


Riding Acromantulas and Understanding Magical Biology

by minuseven



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Worm - Wildbow
Genre: 1990s, Accents, Age Regression/De-Aging, Arachnophobia, Bigotry & Prejudice, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Bullying, Child Abuse, Crossover, Depression, Diagon Alley, Dogs, Exposition, Family Feels, Family Issues, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Gryffindor, Historical References, Hogwarts Express, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Locked In, London, Owls, Paranoia, Self-Esteem Issues, Shooting Guns, Sneakiness, Sorting Ceremony, Touch-Starved, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-02-22 15:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 37,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2512457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minuseven/pseuds/minuseven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a.k.a. Taylor and Amy in Harry Potter.</p><p> </p><p>Taylor Granger and Amy Potter meet for the first time in Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Except not. "Does the name Panacea mean anything to you?" "Does Skitter to you?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking up to a Dream: Waking up

**Author's Note:**

> Beta Readers: alethiophile, Xicree, Xomniac, BadTiming, Thyrfa; at Sufficient Velocity Forums.

After everything that I had seen and done these past weeks, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

I was tagging everybody in the platform who entered past the barrier with an unobtrusive fly when one of them just died. I sat up straighter in my compartment and sent another fly. Not two seconds after it had touched skin, it died. Just like that. The third I sent to rest on clothes and that one was not killed. It could be just a magical insecticide but I knew of one person who could do that too. Someone who had also been with me when it had happened.

Both hoping and dreading who I might find, I leaned out of the train’s window and there, standing awkwardly just to the side of the barrier, was Amy Dallon.

* * *

 

When I first woke up, I didn’t really remember what had happened. For a while, I stayed like I was. And I was sitting on a chair, my head resting on my arms. I’d fallen asleep on top of a book. It hadn’t happened for a while. Not since getting my powers. Something was wrong with this picture. It didn’t match to what I was remembering.

There had been… the Nine. Chasing Siberian, Brian leaning forward and then something… Flying… Sirius under me, Amy against my back…

Something was very wrong with this picture. I opened my eyes, scanning my surroundings, the sense of unease always there. I was in a room, my head on a desk and the sun coming from the window warming me.

Except it had been cloudy, raining yesterday even. And I had been outside, fighting the Slaughterhouse Nine.

I sent my bugs to scout and…

Nothing. There was nothing. I could finally put a name to the sense of wrongness that had been plaguing me.

I was alone in my head.

I took a deep breath, then another. There was no use in panicking. I needed to find out what had happened, what was happening, and fix it. It was harder than it should be. I did not have thousands of small points in the darkness to focus. It was just me alone. Had my powers been helping me keep calm and think rationally?

Bonesaw had blocked my powers before but this was nothing like it. There wasn’t even the smallest hint of anything. It was like I was missing a part of my mind, a sixth sense that I had been born with. It was like I had never had powers in the first place.

Carefully, without making noise, I stepped away from the desk and chair. I was in a room, very much like my own yet not. A bed, a night table, a large wardrobe and two large bookshelves complemented the desk and chair. All in all, it was the type of room I would have had when I was smaller if it weren’t for a few details. The colours were wrong and the extreme tidiness was something I had only picked up years later. Again, it felt vaguely wrong. It was the uncanny valley effect. Some things were right but there were details that did not fit and made it look off.

And there was no sign that I was in Brockton Bay, the view outside showing a suburban street, nice and flowering. Very much not destroyed by Leviathan’s visit.

Something else worried me more, however. Myself. I had been injured and yet now I felt perfectly fine. There was a lingering soreness in my neck, the kind that happened when you fell asleep in an uncomfortable position, but I didn’t feel the numbness and aches from my burns and bruises. And now that I was paying attention to my body, it felt uncoordinated and…. Not weak, but not as at ease, as strong as before. I looked down, seeing I was wearing shorts and a blouse. And definitely flatter than ever. I brought my hands up to confirm my misfortune and stopped, examining my palms. Were they… chubbier?

“Ah.” I blinked. “This is…. Fuck.” My voice was higher too.

Now that I looked carefully around me, the furniture’s proportions seemed a bit off. Like they were bigger… or like I was smaller.

I needed a mirror.

Feeling accurately the loss of my powers, I opened the door to the room slowly. I had no idea of what was beyond it, and no way to know besides going and finding out by myself. I scowled. I had become too dependant on my powers. What if I ran into a Trump like Hatchet Face? I couldn’t afford to become this useless.

But there was only a normal hallway on the other side, with a couple more doors and a stairway heading down. Now that I was outside, I thought I could hear people talking downstairs. Making no noise, I slipped to one of the other doors, thinking about the layout of my own home and opened it a sliver. The floor underneath was tiled. I entered the bathroom and closed the door behind me. It was bigger and in a much better state than my own. The furniture in the room had been too, without cracks or signs of being second-handed like ours. Like the one at Emma’s house...

This was no time to think about that. All it meant was that this house belonged to people with a good income. High middle class. And it only added to the mystery of why I was here and what was going on with me. I approached the mirror and, at the sight of myself, went wide-eyed.

Because the mirror showed Taylor Hebert as she had been five or six years ago.


	2. Waking up to a Dream: Re-orientation

This was me. Skinny, too tall for her age, wide-mouthed Taylor Hebert. But, had I really looked like this before? I looked good, healthy. My skin was smooth, there were no bags underneath my eyes. I knew my basic appearance had taken some hits, the stress of just going to school not letting me rest properly. I had never imagined it made this much of a difference. Then again, I’d never had the opportunity to observe my previous looks like this.

I swallowed. How had this… happened? No, what was this? How had I ended up in my younger body, who knew where, with my powers seemingly gone? Were my powers gone because I was in this body, or because of something else? I braced myself against the sink, thinking. I was almost tempted to think of some sort of time-travel, but it didn’t fit with the rest of it. Was time-travel even possible? Parahumans or not, it seemed like something impossible. But no, I thought I could leave that one out. An aging power then, working in reverse. That could explain my appearance. It didn’t explain where I was and why, but other things could be at work. Too many things. What were the chances that all the powers involved to put me here, younger, would be available? And why? This didn’t feel like anything the Nine would do…

The Nine were sadistic monsters. Jack Slash and Cherish, even Siberian and Bonesaw… they also enjoyed other things beyond physical pain. The Siberian liked the thrill of the chase, liked watching her prey slowly give up, for example. Mind games were also something they’d do. Could that be it? Some kind of illusion or Master effect to mess with my head? It sounded right up Jack’s alley.

I pinched myself until I drew blood. It was painful and it changed nothing. Well, it was worth a try. A Master that could make me believe in all of this had to be very powerful. A little bit of pain wouldn’t change anything.

But what did I do now? I had no idea how to break out of this illusion. I couldn’t do anything. There was always the remote chance that it was something else altogether but I didn’t think so. Bonesaw could have very well gone around in my head and disabled my powers directly, everything else could be explained with a cape that took over senses. So, what was the purpose of putting me in this place? So far it looked harmless. Jack would want to break me. Maybe make me defend myself and then drop the illusion and reveal the enemies had been my friends all along. Something of the genre.

I grit my teeth. I hated this. I didn’t have enough information. I was going to have to play along for now.

Cautiously, I returned to the room. For an illusion it was incredibly real. Textures, smells, tastes and sounds. It would have been perfect if my body didn’t still feel awkward like it had during those years I had had my growth spurt.

I was examining the book I had woken up on top of that was, ironically, about butterflies, when I heard somebody climbing up the stairs. With my powers I would have known more or less who or what it was and I would have known they were coming before they even started ascending. I closed the book, remembering the page, and grabbed it. It wasn’t much, as a weapon, but it would have to do. I angled myself so that I had space to move, the door and the window in my field of vision. The door opened slowly and in poked a head.

“Taylor?”

I couldn’t help it. “Dad?”


	3. Waking up to a Dream: The magic Cape and the Letter

No, it wasn’t Dad. Like everything, the details were off. This man looked like my father to the point where I could comfortably call him an uncle. Tall and gangly, like me, with receding hair and glasses. His features were also familiar, the shape of his nose and chin, the colour of his eyes. What distinguished him the most from my Dad was his posture. He stood tall, proud. He did not slouch, he didn’t have bone deep tiredness engraved in the lines of his face.

With a jolt, I realized I was looking at what my Dad might have looked like if he didn’t have to struggle everyday with a dying economy. If he didn’t have to watch the Dockworkers slowly turn to the gangs or give up. If Mom hadn’t died. I’d forgotten how young he really was, because Dad always looked like he was pushing fifty only being nearing his forties. I never thought that Dad had literally lost hair to the stress.

“You’re awake already?” he pondered, then hesitated, “There’s a guest downstairs who would like to meet you.”

A guest? “Who?”

“A Professor McGonagall.” Dad, or his copy, entered the room fully. “Apparently, you’ve been accepted for a special school and the professor’s come to deliver the news.”

“Which school?”

“It’s called Hogwarts.” He fidgeted.

This was not what I was expecting from whatever illusion I was trapped in. It just came out of nowhere. The name McGonagall didn’t mean anything to me and Hogwarts…. Really? It didn’t make any sense. What was the purpose of this? I was going to have to risk it. “Okay, lead the way.”

Dad, because I couldn’t think of this person in any other way, smiled and turned away. I tucked the book securely under my arm and followed at a reasonable distance. Down the stairs, we entered a living room and I had to bite my tongue to not say anything. My eyes got wet nonetheless and I blinked furiously to clear them.

Mom smiled at me from where she was sitting on the couch. “Hello dear. Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah.” I was still sleeping, I supposed.

I felt a pang of shame, looking at Mom. If this really was what she had looked like years ago, I’d forgotten things. The exact way she smiled, the planes of her face and the sound of her voice. Time had blurred my memory but here she was, vibrant and alive, just like four years ago. And all I could think of was that this was a trap. There was no point in giving me my mother back unless they were planning to take her away again or were using her likeness to lower my guard.

"Taylor?" My father's voice brought me down to earth. He stood by Mom, one hand on the back of the couch, fiddling with some loose threads there.

I blinked. "Sorry."

"It's rather alright. It is an unusual sight for the first time." A different person said. My alertness had evaporated at seeing my Mom alive and well, so I had barely paid any attention to the third individual in the room. And what a sight she was indeed.

She wore no mask, but everything else just screamed cape. The green and blue robes she wore were reminiscent of Myrddin’s with his wizard look. Between the hair pulled into a tight bun and the glasses perched on a severe face, she reminded me of the archetypal unforgiving teacher. Why an unmasked cape would be here, I did not know. Maybe this was more of a dream, because things were starting to not make a lick of sense.

"Professor McGonagall, I assume?" I managed.

“Indeed. Please have a seat, Miss Granger.”

Granger? But nobody showed any signs of surprise, so I just nodded and sat on the couch. “What is going on?”

“First of all,” said McGonagall, pulling an envelope from the folds of her robes, “you should have this. It’s your acceptance letter.”

The envelope was old-fashioned. Made out of parchment, it was sealed with actual wax. It came addressed as such, in green ink:

Ms. T. Granger  
11 New Court Road  
London

I looked up from the letter. My parents were eyeing me apprehensively and McGonagall continued sitting patiently. I broke the purple seal, noting the coat of arms, and took two pages from inside, both made from the same old paper as the envelope.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
 _(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_  
 _Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Ms. Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress

I searched for words. Words questioning why I was in London of all places, why my last name was different and why one of the crazy 'magician' capes was here. But the only thing that came up was: “Mugwump?”


	4. Waking up to a Dream: Some questions answered

“Mugwump?” repeated Dad.

“Yes. Right here. Albus Dumbledore, etcetera, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump,” did that word even exist? “International Confederation of Wizards.”

Mom looked pensive. “I think I’ve heard that word somewhere, actually…”

McGonagall supplied the information, one eyebrow raised in undeniable amusement. And perhaps some astonishment. "The Supreme Mugwump is a political position of quite some importance and prestige in our world. It is effectively the spokesperson for and impartial mediator over the discussions of the International Confederation." I had a feeling the Mugwump had quite a bit more power, unofficially. "Which is, itself, something like your United Nations. But prospective students don't usually focus on that part of the letter."

I shrugged at her amusement. "I was curious." but she was right, so I tapped the paper and asked, “So, wizards, witches, magic…?”

"All quite real, I assure you," McGonagall said with a smile. "Would you like to see proof?"

I'd never met any magic cape in person. Those that waved their arms around, shouting nonsense and wore robes like... well, like the one in front of me. I also didn't believe that powers were magical, even if they gave the middle finger to the laws of nature most of the time. It didn't matter, but powers being magic implied a lack of control and explanations. Bonesaw had spoken about brain structures, of messing with them and subsequently our powers. She hadn't, fortunately, but her talk of passengers was anything but magical. But that wasn't what really bothered me about this situation. McGonagall had mentioned politics, spoken of a different 'world'. And this Hogwarts school. A school for powers? You couldn't teach parahumans methodically, because every single one was different and not fully understood.

The parahuman community had unspoken rules, underground arrangements and alliances. Nothing like this, with confederations and the like. Was this also intertwined with the normal government? I didn't know enough about anything to reach conclusions. Of course, it wasn’t like it had to make sense. I was still unsure of exactly what was going on.

Still, I answered the self-proclaimed witch, “Yes.” I barely remembered to add, “Please.”

The professor reached into her robes and pulled out a wand, an honest-to-God wand of all things. She was really playing this up. Maybe it was a sort of tinker device, somehow? Beside me, my parents leaned in, transparently curious. McGonagall then waved it over one of the teacups on the table, transforming it into a mouse. A very real and animated mouse, that looked up at us humans curiously.

That... was something.

“So, this is magic?" I phrased it as a question. Was it a power based on changing things? What were its limits? Could she literally pull a witch and turn people into frogs?

“Transfiguration is but one of the many disciplines of magic. I teach Transfiguration at Hogwarts myself.” She made a few more wand flourishes, turning the mouse blue, then shrinking it and then back into a teacup.

I couldn’t really help myself, and interrupted. “Could you do an insect? Like, a spider or a butterfly?”

For a moment, the grey-haired woman seemed surprised, but then she smiled and the teacup turned into a beautiful red and gold butterfly. I still couldn’t feel it. I’d hoped that, perhaps, something created from this power would be the solution, that it would interact correctly with my powers wherever I was. No such luck, but it had been a long shot anyway.

“There are also Charms, Potions, Runes… even things like Divination and Alchemy,” continued the professor. With a wand flick, the butterfly was a teacup again. "Magic is a powerful and versatile tool. In the hands of a skilled wizard, it can do almost anything."

I nodded. "And Hogwarts could teach me that?"

"The transfiguration or using magic?" McGonagall questioned, guessing my intent. "As for the first, no student of mine would be allowed to take their OWLs without being able to do this much. As for the second, Ms. Granger, you wouldn't be the first muggleborn student that doubted their capabilities, but the Book of Admittance wouldn't have your name in it if you didn't have magic. Do you remember any time when feeling scared, angry or sad, strange things just... happened? Objects moving, disappearing, animals doing what you want?"

No. “Vaguely.”

"Taylor," Dad spoke up, "remember... remember when we went to the beach and you climbed that huge rock and fell down?"

I'd gone to the beach every summer, back when Mom was still alive. But the beaches of Brockton Bay were nearly all sand. The few rocks there were wouldn't reach much higher than my waist. I played along. "Yes?"

"And then you slipped and fell and gave your mother and I the greatest scare of our lives." Dad chuckled weakly. "But you weren't hurt at all. You... floated down. We thought it had been a trick of the light, or that you'd bounced on the sand."

"Or that time you got your books all wet," interrupted Mom, "and the next day they were as good as new? Not a smudge or wrinkled page!"

"Now that you're telling me, I remember." I didn't, but denying it would only create more problems when I still wasn’t sure of anything. However, it would have been incredibly useful to be able to dry books with my mind after I entered highschool. Maybe then we wouldn’t have had to spend so much money on schoolbooks. "That was my... magic?" I asked McGonagall, who confirmed. "Right. So, now what?"


	5. Waking up to a Dream: No matter where, or how

Laying down on the bed, I stared at the ceiling. I could barely see the constellations made with glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the plaster. They looked accurate. The Ursa Major, Orion, the North Star marked with an extra large star. My dad knew about the stars. My grandfather would take him with him on his boat, a long time before the crisis, before parahumans even. Dad taught me some things about reading the night sky when I was little. It had stopped after Mom died.

An old pain flared in my chest. It was even sharper than usual, and I felt like crying again.

I thought back to that afternoon. After demonstrating magic, Professor McGonagall had answered whatever questions I’d had. She’d already gone it over with my parents, and she explained to me what was going to happen.

Hogwarts was a boarding school in Scotland, considered one of Europe’s best institutes of magical education. As a muggleborn, somebody from a muggle or non-magical family, I had been enrolled there by default. All that was left for me to do was to get the required school supplies and be at King's Cross Station the first of September. Assuming that I wanted to go. The professor had impressed to us that it was highly recommended. My parents.... They had asked me if this was really what I wanted.

I'd accepted. It was an obvious cue. If this... dream, illusion or whatever, wasn't so realistic, I might have tried to go against the flow from the beginning. As it was, I didn't think it would work. Besides, if Hogwarts could really teach me magic, as they called it, it might be worth it. McGonagall had left then, and it was agreed that we would go to a place called Diagon Alley the day after tomorrow. And I'd been left alone with my parents. Their copies. I couldn't. Just looking at Mom, at her likeness, made my breath hitch. I'd excused myself as fast as I could, saying I needed some time alone to think.

I did need to think. I had to go back, but I didn't even know how I had ended up here in the first place. We had been chasing the Siberian and her projector, the real Siberian. I knew that much. But between being riding Sirius and waking up here things were too disjointed. I thought I had felt my bugs dying, but without my powers I suddenly wasn't sure of how that felt. It reminded me of being caught in Bakuda's explosions. There were missing moments, disconnects. Had the Siberian managed to knock me out somehow? Was I in a coma somewhere? Was this all inside my own head?

I ran a hand through my hair. The hair that was shorter than what I was used to. I exhaled. I wasn’t going anywhere. The only thing I was managing was to frustrate myself, and there weren’t any other tasks that I could use to distract myself long enough to approach the situation from another angle. Trying to reach out to insects, or any magic power of any kind, didn’t yield any results.

There was a knock on the door. “Taylor?” sounded Dad’s voice.

I straightened up immediately. “Yes?”

“Dinner’s on the table.”

I glanced at the window. The sky was darkening. I hadn’t even noticed the time fly by, but now I recognized the feeling in my gut as hunger. I could even feel hungry here. “Alright. I’m coming.”

I braced myself before opening the door. Dad was going to be on the other side. I hadn’t spoken to him since that day on the beach. I hadn’t eaten together with him for far longer than that. And this version of him wasn’t going to be… awkward around me. Hesitant. Plus, Mom was also going to be there and I wouldn’t have anything to buffer. It wasn’t like I didn’t want to see my mother again, but she couldn’t really be my mother. At best, Annette Hebert as I had seen her was made from my memories. Mom… was dead.

I took a deep breath and left the room. Dad watched me with barely concealed worry as we went down the stairs. Mom was waiting for us in the kitchen. And on the table there was beef stew with carrots and other vegetables, something I hadn't smelled for a long time. Mom used to love that dish. It was a Welsh recipe she had read in a book and so we had that sometimes. Dad and I hadn't had it ever since the accident.

I didn’t even remember exactly what it was called.

“Taylor!” Mom dropped down to her knees in front of me, holding my shoulders. The blurriness of my sight… I was crying. “Oh Taylor, darling.”

“Sorry.” She hugged me to her chest, rocking back and forth. Desperately, I clung to her, trying to breathe through the sobs rising up. Mom’s scent, just the feel of being in her arms again, even if it was all just simulated, I wanted this. Right now I just wanted this. Dad hugged us both from behind, pressing me more into their arms. I was going to get snot all over Mom’s shirt. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Taylor…” Mom waited a bit before gently pushing me away. I wiped my eyes and nose with the back of my arm. “Look at me, Taylor, and listen.” I did. “We’re not sending you away. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. We love you. Professor McGonagall spoke with us and if you don’t want to leave we can get you tutors to teach you here at home.”

“It’s not….” How could I tell them? I just… “I just miss you. I’ll miss you so much. I don’t…” I sobbed. “I don’t want to… to come back and you’re…” Gone. I broke down again.

“Hey, hey Taylor, shh. Up you go!” Dad picked me up with ease, like I was a kid again. And I was wasn’t I? I couldn’t help a strangled giggle. “See, Dad makes everything better,” he joked, then spoke more seriously, “We love you kid, and it doesn’t matter if you go to a magical school with pointy hats and brooms and toads; we’ll always love you. You’re my little witch.”

Mom piped up from my other side, brushing hair away from my wet face. “Always. Even if you get warts and green skin and start turning boys into rats.”

I cried more. They didn’t know about Skitter, Coil and Dinah. About the deals I had made, about the Undersiders and the people I had hurt and let be hurt. They didn’t know I was a supervillain trying to take over the city, a person who had scared and hurt innocent people, a person who had let others die because she needed the practice. They weren’t even real!

But I believed them. I wanted to believe them so much.


	6. Waking up to a Dream: Incongruous

Night had fallen over the streets of London. Instead of being in bed, I sat near the window, trying to get as much light as I could on the butterfly book. I yawned. It wasn’t even midnight, but already I felt tired and sleepy. A side-effect of being ten again, I supposed. But my parents had only gone to bed half an hour ago and I couldn’t get caught. I needed to be sure they were sleeping before I went to work. If I still had my powers, it would be trivial.

But I didn’t. So I waited.

It reminded me of my first night out, my only night as a superhero. In hindsight, I had made so many rookie mistakes that night that I still didn’t know exactly how I’d survived. But back then, I’d waited for Dad to fall asleep too, before leaving to ‘patrol’. If I hadn’t been so lucky, the next morning Dad would probably be woken by PRT agents knocking on his door. I shivered. Dad… and Mom. It felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders after I’d had my cry. I had really needed that, more than I would have ever thought. There was this almost urge to just cuddle with them on the couch and watch a movie, without a care. To pretend this was real and forget everything that had gone wrong in the next years.

No. I couldn’t let myself fall into that mentality. For all I knew, that was even what this dream was all about. A honey trap. But I could see it at work. I had to get out of here, wake up. The Nine were still out there. Jack Slash couldn’t leave Brockton Bay alive.

I closed the book with a little bit more force than strictly necessary. I strained my ears, but the house was quiet. The only sounds were of clocks ticking away and from the streets outside. Carefully, I left my room and went downstairs. Every creak and noise made me cringe a bit. The floorboards of this house were much less noisy than the ones from our old home, but unlike there, I didn’t know all the spots and places to avoid. Feeling my way through the dark ground floor, I managed to get into the kitchen and close the door behind me. The lightswitch took a bit more time to find. With a low whining noise, the lights turned on. I held my breath, but it didn’t seem to have woken anybody up. Letting the door open just a sliver, I had just enough light to see by in the hallway and living room.

I set to work. There were two car keys on the key hanger by the fridge. Dad’s wallet was on the countertop, and Mom had her things inside her purse. I also grabbed a newspaper from the living room. Spreading them over the kitchen table, I started reading.

Daniel Jacobs Granger and Annette Rose Granger were both dentists. They belonged to the British Dental Association and were surgeons at a private practice in London. It was strange imagining my parents, my father even more, as dentists. My father had never actually gotten into university, and Mom had dropped out of her Master’s and started to teach to give birth to me. Yet, it explained the big house and London suburbs. And there were things that only showed that, doctors or not, they were my parents. Dad owned a boat and fishing rod license. Mom had tickets for a play at Shaftesbury Theatre.

It gave me pause, but it was the newspaper that made me gasp.

July 23rd, 1991. Twenty years before yesterday, four years before I was born. And the news were all wrong. There were no articles about capes, no mentions of tensions with South America, with the Soviet Union, no CUI conspiracies, not even big, important things like Endbringer rebuilding efforts. Nothing.

It didn’t make sense.

It was, apparently, 1991. Had the Protectorate even existed back then? The Triumvirate, known by its old name? I knew both they and the PRT had formed before I was born, but the exact year escaped me. For once, I actually wished I had paid more attention to Mr. Gladly’s classes.

I closed my eyes and stopped. I had to be logical about this. I wasn’t even in the States, I was in the U.K.. The heroes here were the King’s Men. I didn’t know anything about them, except they organized themselves by suits, like cards, and that they were an organization in decay ever since the Simurgh had hit London in 2000 something. Dates, what other dates did I know? I knew some of Behemoth’s appearances, a morbid joke since I’d been born on one of those days. The first Endbringer battle ever had been in 1992, against him. So no news about capes was possible, right? It could be a slow day in Europe. Scion had appeared in ‘82, capes started being more than rumours by the middle of the eighties, but it was the Endbringers that had suddenly and firmly brought parahumans to the forefront of everything. The PRT had only formed after that, I remembered that now.

What else did I know? The Slaughterhouse Nine, I had researched some about them. Mannequin had been Sphere but the dates escaped me. The Siberian had killed Hero in 2000. Jack Slash had been leading the group ever since... ‘88.

“Damn!” I cursed, then bit my lip.

No. There had to be some articles, references, no matter how small or obscure. And some things just plain didn’t make sense. The Warsaw Pact had been dissolved? It hadn’t, at least not yet! Conflicts in Berlin, but no mention of the Gesellschaft.

I felt like I was reading an old newspaper from… from Aleph. From a world without parahumans.

I almost tore into the living room without a care, restraining myself just enough to keep the noise down. I was looking for photo albums. But when I found them, I couldn’t find what made sense to exist, if I had replaced an analogue of me on a parallel Earth. I couldn’t find Emma. If I was here, my parents too, changed as they were, then at this age so should she. We were like sisters. I knew she was on our photo albums as much as I was in hers. Both relief and dismay filled me. I didn’t even know why, I hated Emma. I hated what she had become, but maybe I still loved what she had been with the same part of my heart that would always want my mother back, no matter how impossible it was.

An illusion, a parallel world, I didn’t know anything anymore. A place with magic and witches but without superheroes. No supervillains either.

If I went to sleep, would I leave this twisted dream?


	7. Diagonally: The entrance

"It should be somewhere around here." Dad looked around, searching. "Can you see it, Taylor?"

"Not yet." And I had been looking for it. All around me, the streets of central London shone with their old storefronts, theatres and tourists everywhere. I'd never seen anything like this. The Boardwalk didn't even compare; Brockton Bay didn't even compare. London was an old European city and I was right in its cultural centre.

I had to admit it, it was pretty... nice. Charming, I supposed. Ancient in a good way, instead of the oldness that just made the buildings of Brockton Bay look decrepit. Oh, there were tourists like I’d only seen on the Boardwalk, even then less, and technology-wise the nineties didn’t even compare, but I couldn’t see surreptitious gang tattoos or mercenary enforcers prowling around. This city was safer. Better.

"Charing Cross Road isn't small. Let's keep walking and we’ll find it," Mom interrupted, pulling us along.

Somewhere in this street, there was a store that only I could really see. I was still a bit skeptical of this whole magic thing.

In the meanwhile, my eyes couldn't help but be drawn in by the numerous bookstores and neatly arranged facades. This was a touristic place, like the Boardwalk, and well-maintained. Those typical black london cabs you saw in movies were everywhere and several groups of tourists gaped at their surroundings. It made some sense that the entrance to the centre of magical London, as McGonagall had described it, would be in a location both well-known and easy to get to.

I walked between my parents, holding hands with both of them. Two days had passed since I had woken up in this other world. Whether it was real or illusory I still didn’t know, but it certainly affected me like it was real. Hunger, thirst, fatigue, pain… as far as I cared the level of detail was real enough. Yesterday I had spent the entire day with my parents and I kept slipping into thinking they were really there. I kept correcting myself in my head until I just gave up, the endeavor too costly for its worth. I knew I couldn’t be sure of the reality of my circumstances, but the mental backpedaling I kept doing wasn’t helping me anywhere. It was already enough that I had used obviously American vocabulary and made them glance worryingly at me. Their accents weren’t too obvious, so I slipped into it with no great problem. Mom had loved British accents as much as she had hated Australian ones, and when I was younger we’d read books out loud in outrageous Scottish voices. It was still weird hearing Dad complain about the petrol prices rising though.

And then I spotted the Leaky Cauldron.

“Found it,” I called out to my parents, stopping right in my tracks. My eyes had been passing over another big bookstore when I saw the place. Mostly because it was small and dark. It looked like a building from two centuries back had been transplanted right into the street and nobody noticed it. People walked past it but never even looked that way, like it didn’t exist. It had to be the place.

“Where?” asked Dad. His eyes jumped from the bookstore to the record store on the other side of the Leaky Cauldron. I pointed it out, but still he didn’t see it. “There’s nothing but an abandoned building there… wait.” He stopped short, brows furrowing. A stranger effect.

“An abandoned building on Charing Cross Road? And yet I don’t think I’d think twice about it if Taylor hadn’t pointed it out to me.” Mom nudged him with a smile. “A perfect description of the place then. Lead on Taylor.”

Somewhat nervously, we crossed the road and entered. To me it looked well-maintained if old, but to my parents it probably seemed like they were entering a condemned building. If I wanted to be kind, I’d say it was rustic. The Leaky Cauldron’s inside matched the outside. It was dark, gloomy and the clientele looked just as odd as the building. The front door opened to a large dining room with a bar on the side, various chairs and tables strewn around. In an empty corner, a large fireplace sat with ash marks in front of it. It also seemed like long, ridiculous robes weren’t a formal or traditional dress, but actually the fashion for these people.

As the door closed behind us, people lifted their eyes to us and stared, only a couple returning to their glasses and papers. There was an old lady smoking a long pipe that spewed flower-shaped smoke, a teen only a year older than I was, had been, with shocking blue hair scribbling away on a piece of parchment. A man with a heavy-set jaw in particular glared our way. I stared back, unflinching. Our deadlock was broken when a woman sitting by the counter got up and exchanged a couple of words with the bartender, before striding towards us. Up closer I saw it was McGonagall attired in a different robe, this time dark purple.

“Good morning,” she greeted us with a smile, ”Mr. and Ms. Granger, Taylor.”

Then she introduced us to Tom, the bartender that owned the Leaky Cauldron. The old man welcomed us enthusiastically, noting how nice it was to have a new witch pass through his establishment. My parents cringed somewhat at his toothless smile, reminding me once again they were dentists here. He led our group to a well-used courtyard surrounded by tall brickwalls.

“You need a wand to open the gateway,” Tom explained, wand in hand. “The young lady will get hers today, but if you ever need to pass into Diagon Alley by yourselves just speak to me and I’ll open it. Now watch here and remember the brick.”

He pointed at the side of the wall.

“From here, three up, two across.” The tip of his wand tapped one brick three times. “Three taps.”

The stone wriggled by itself and sank in, leaving a small hole. A hole that grew in seconds as bricks re-arranged themselves and disappeared, forming a large archway. Beyond, a cobbled street full of colorful and unique stores extended somehow. I wasn’t sure we were even in London anymore.

And I took my first steps into the wizarding world.


	8. Diagonally: Meeting at the Bank

Diagon Alley, which was a horrible pun by the way, could only be described as colorful. Eccentric, chaotic, out of a fairytale. All along a narrow, cobbled street, a crowd moved from store to store, talking, haggling, window-shopping. Wizards and witches in robes of all colors, pointy-hats, strange combinations of clothing that would get them pointed to the nearest asylum in a normal street, out shopping in the old-fashioned way. I distinctly heard a woman pass us by complaining under her breath, “... out of Doxycide, unbelievable. How can they be out of Doxycide already? Winter’s coming!”

And, even more than in the streets of London, there was a homely cheer to the atmosphere. If Charing Cross could be compared to the Boardwalk, then Diagon Alley was like the Market in Brockton Bay, if it sold dragon liver and tomes of forbidden knowledge.

“It’s amazing,” said Mom. “So, what do you think? Excited?”

To tell the truth, I wasn’t quite sure. I still didn’t know what was going on. But I didn’t want to disappoint Mom, looking at me expectantly. I tried to put as much excitement as I could into my voice. “I’ve never seen anything like it!” And it was true.

“It’s quite strange, isn’t it?” commented Dad. “So, where should we start, Professor?”

“With acquiring the proper currency.”

The old teacher lead us down the street to a white building, larger and taller than any other in this place. White marble columns, doors of burnished bronze. It exuded richness. Gringotts, the wizarding bank, actually reminded me of Central Bank and the day I had started my supervillain career. It did seem to be much better protected, with armed guards and all. According to McGonagall, the vaults were all underground in a tunnel maze. It also was staffed and owned by goblins, who were half-sized persons with pointy ears, noses and teeth like sharks. They looked perpetually angry with everybody, but did not seem attach any particular hostility to us.

Opening an account in my name so that we could exchange pounds for galleons, sickles and knuts, the magical coins, involved filling out a few forms and giving a bit of my blood. The goblin teller assigned to us explained the basics of banking between worlds, as it were, while we waited for my new vault key to be fetched. The current exchange rate was five pounds a galleon and the solid gold coins could not be sold in the muggle world. They would know if it happened, he warned us with a wide smile. Goblins also made sure the economy between both sides was balanced. It looked to me as if they acted like the Number Man, the entity that acted like a financial intermediary to parahumans. Apparently they worked with the Ministry, but I had no doubt that they also provided other, certain services for other certains fees.

As we were preparing to leave, a voice called out to us, loud even in the noisy marble hall. “Professor McGonagall! How good to see you!” A tall man with a rosy face and messy beard approached, followed closely by a teen.

Our chaperone turned and raised an impeccable eyebrow, but smiled. “Mr. Diggory. I didn’t expect to see you here. How do you do?”

“Good! Very good.” He bounced on his heels. “It’s another year, another day spent at Diagon Alley buying school supplies. I brought Cedric here... I’m sure you remember him.” He pulled forward the teen, who looked uncomfortable with his father’s actions.

“Indeed I do, he's one of my best students.” Mr. Diggory seemed incredibly proud, and I got the feeling he had intercepted us just to show off his son. McGonagall proceeded with the introductions. “Amos Diggory and his son Cedric. He’s a Hufflepuff student, third year now. Mr. and Ms. Granger, and their daughter Taylor. She’ll be starting at Hogwarts this year.” There was a round of handshakes and greetings.

Cedric and I shook hands. He looked older than he was, tall and broad-shouldered. His eyes were of a striking grey and his face was starting to sharpen into a more adult look. He would be handsome when he grew up some more. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

I was suddenly aware of the small size of my hand against his. “Me too.”

The adults exchanged a few more pleasantries, Diggory explaining that he really had something to do for a certain Mockridge. “Come along Cedric!” He called.

Cedric hesitated and asked, “Dad, could I go with Professor McGonagall?” He continued before his father could say anything. “Taylor’s going to visit most of the shops I need to go to. We’d save some time and I could show her around the magical world. If you wouldn’t mind mind, that is,” he told us.

Mr. Diggory was lost for words. “Well…I… I don’t see why not.” Then he brightened considerably at his son’s responsible actions, and gave Cedric some money so he could come with us.

“I’m sorry to impose,” Cedric said as we left Gringotts, and shot me a conspiratorial wink. “But I needed to get away for a bit, and my Dad is going to spend hours speaking with the goblins. I’d much rather go with you.”

I smiled. “I don’t mind. Really.”


	9. Diagonally: Familiar interactions

With Cedric along, we’d gone to a series of stores looking for the best quality versions of the items on my list. He was a real help, and McGonagall had let him take the lead while she chatted with my parents. At the moment, we were at Flourish and Blotts buying my schoolbooks. I hadn’t been in a bookstore like this since that time with Brian, before everything went to hell. Books were everywhere, both old and new. And these had images that moved, sparkly decorations, some even moved. Mom was entranced with them and so was I, until I noticed how Cedric was smiling at me. This was actually reminding me a lot of that day with Brian.

“So….” I searched for a safe topic as Dad paid for my books. “The professor said you were a Hufflepuff student?”

“Yeah, I’m a badger, and proud of it.” Cedric must have noticed my look because he looked down sheepishly. “Right, you’re muggleborn, so you wouldn’t know about it…”

“Not a clue.”

“W-well, in Hogwarts, students are divided by Houses. There are four of them, named after the founders of Hogwarts. Gryffindor for the brave, Slytherin for the cunning, Ravenclaw for the witty and Hufflepuff for the loyal.” Cedric thumped his chest boyishly.

I chuckled. “How do they decide which House you belong to?”

“Sorry, that’s a secret.” He waggled a finger and continued explaining, “your dormitories and schedule depend on your House, so your House sort of becomes your family. You sleep, eat and have classes together. Also, during the year you can gain or lose points for your House, if you answer a question right or break the rules, for example. In the end of the year, the House with more points wins the House Cup.”

It seemed like a weird system. Instead of having inter-school competitions, they had an intra-school competition? Then again, I hadn’t heard about any other magic schools. “Did Hufflepuff win last year?” I asked as we left the bookstore. Mom was talking animatedly with Professor McGonagall while Dad carried my new cauldron, in pewter, stuffed with books and other miscellaneous things.

“Ah, no. Slytherin’s been on a winning streak. They’ve won the House Cup for the last six years…. They won the Quidditch Cup last year too,” he groaned.

“Kwi-what?”

Cedric laughed. He was starting to explain the rules of the weirdest game I’d ever heard of, it sounded like somebody had two or three games rolled one, when a person yelled ahead of us. Then something slammed into me.

I was sent crashing to the pavement, the breathe being forced out of my lungs. I tucked my head in, not wanting to hit it against the stones. I raised my arms to ward off my attacker and met soft fur. A dog was half-standing on my chest, now barking loudly near my face. I couldn’t hear anything.

“Stop. Down! Stop!” I forced my hands over his muzzle, quieting him. Surprisingly, he stopped.

“Taylor! Are you alright?!”

I ignored the people asking about me. The black labrador, much larger and intimidating when I was this small, was very familiar. I knew this dog. This was Sirius. I swatted him. “Bad. Off me, now.”

Chastised, the labrador back off and Cedric helped me to my feet. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. He just surprised me.” I scratched Sirius’ head.

The older boy looked incredulous, staring at the dog that had knocked me over. Sirius’ head stood easily at my belly’s height, the black dog positively massive compared to me. If he had wanted to maul me, I’d be a goner for sure, but I had more important things on my mind.

Sirius pressed his head harder against my hand, asking for petting. Sirius was here and he recognized me. I wasn’t alone, even if my only company was a dog. How was Sirius here though? And why here, in this place, rather than with me? Was he alone, the only one, or were there more of us around? Were Brian or Rachel around?

“Merlin’s beard! What’s going on here?!” My parents and McGonagall finally got through the crowd around us.

Nearly at the same time, a man in a rough leather apron and gloves forced his way through. “Caught you,” he panted.

All eyes were planted on Sirius, who had raised his hackles. I looped my arm protectively around his neck. I’d just found Sirius, but I didn’t think they were here to let me keep him.


	10. Diagonally: A girl's best friend

I didn’t have time for hesitation. I called out to my parents with as genuine a smile as I could manage, “Mom, Dad! Can I keep him?”

“Keep him!?” yelped Cedric right next to me. “He attacked you!”

I shot him a glare. I needed to convince my parents and he was not helping. “No, he didn’t. He was just excited, that’s all.”

“Taylor,” my father said, “what exactly happened here? Where did that dog come from?”

“I’m very sorry, sir, that would be my fault.” The man in the dirty apron spoke up with a forced laugh, “he was getting unruly in his cage and somehow managed to escape. I’ll take him back to the shop now.” He reached for Sirius and backed off when the dog started growling very loudly. “Bloody dog!” He took out his wand.

“No.” I interposed myself between them. “He was just looking for me. I’ll buy him. How’s that?”

“Whoa, whoa, Taylor! Calm down!” said Dad. “I’m not saying no.” He raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. “But maybe you should think a little bit before committing yourself to this. A pet is a big responsibility after all. Are you sure you want this dog?”

I had to admit that it threw me off that Dad didn’t say anything about how expensive a dog could be. Then I remembered my parents were dentists, here. I looked at them. Dad seemed alarmed, hands raised and brow furrowed slightly. Mom was worried. I could see it in the way she bit her lip. I hadn’t seen that expression on her face since… that day. A shiver crawled up my spine and I hugged Sirius closer to me.

One deep breath. What should I say to convince them? Two deep breaths. Letting Sirius go was not an option. He was the only clue I had as to what happened. My only untainted connection from this waking dream. A lifeline.

Finally, I spoke. “Yes. I’m sure, Dad. Mom.” I caught their gazes and tried to convey all the sincerity I could. I needed this. “I know a dog is a big responsibility and a lot of work. It’s not a toy. But I promise I’ll take care of him. I’ll feed him, wash him, take him on walks. Everything. Our house has space for a large dog to be comfortable and… I’ll pay for his food too.”

The adults seemed impressed by my short speech, and exchanged looks. I had to remember I looked only about ten or eleven, not fifteen. Had I overdone it? Did I even have an allowance already?

“This one dog?” asked Mom seriously.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“And what will happen to him when you’re away at Hogwarts?”

Stupid. How had I forgotten that? Hogwarts was a boarding school. “I was thinking about taking him with me…” I managed to say without looking too nervous. I stole a glance to see how Professor McGonagall reacted.

The stern-faced witch had never looked more like a disapproving, british governess. “That’s highly irregular, Ms. Granger. Hogwarts students are permitted only cats, toads or owls.”

I saw Cedric look suddenly uncomfortable.

“Bollocks!” Exclaimed the shopkeeper, startling all of us. McGonagall shot him a scandalized glare and he blanched, stepping back. He continued, more subdued, “I apologize. But Professor, you know that’s not true! I sell rats and reptiles and all sorts of things to Hogwart students. I’ll bet you there are more Puffskeins in that castle than toads!”

McGonagall bristled, indignant. “A dog is not something like a-”

“Excuse me?” Mom cleared her throat loudly. “Let’s not argue, please. If it comes down to it, then I’m sure the dog can stay at our house.”

“No, no!” the dirty shopkeeper intervened again. Was he on our side or not? “What if it has crup blood? It could be dangerous to leave him with Muggles!”

“Crup?” asked Dad, bemused by another new, strange word.

“Wizard-bred dog” said Cedric at the same time the shopkeeper boasted, “the best companion any witch or wizard can have.”

“Crups are also instinctively violent towards muggles.” Added McGonagall snidely. “To own a Crup requires a license, showing that the wizard can control it in muggle areas.”

I straightened up, a plan coming to mind. “Sirius. Sit.” I commanded. The labrador immediately sat on his hindquarters, looking at me expectantly. “Lie down.” Then, after he’d complied, I looked him in the eye and said more forcefully, “Stay.” When I walked back to my parents, he didn’t follow. “See, he obeys me. Sirius. Here.” He bounded up to me, asking for petting.

“Wow.” Cedric whistled. “How did you manage that?” My small audience looked both curious and surprised. I shrugged in fashion of an answer. They didn’t know, but all of Bitch’s dogs were trained, probably even better than police dogs. More, Sirius knew me, and knew he should obey me. Now, even if they didn’t let keep him at Hogwarts, at least they couldn’t object to me getting him.

“Sirius?” Professor McGonagall suddenly asked.

“It’s his name.” A name he hadn’t been given yet, I realized almost too late. “It fits him, I think. The brightest star of the sky. And he likes it, don’t you Sirius?” I scratched him behind the ear.

“Yes. Quite indeed.” The older witch stared fixedly at Sirius for a moment, looking unhealthily pale. She coughed, clearly trying to hide how ruffled she was, and addressed my parents. “So, you intend to buy this dog after all, Mr Granger?”

“It certainly looks like it,” my father answered the professor. My mother nodded at him and he corrected himself, “yes. We’ll buy him.”

“I see. Then, perhaps, your daughter and your wife could go to Ollivander’s to buy Taylor’s wand? While I’ll accompany you to the Menagerie to take care of everything. Ownership documents.”

My parents exchanged a couple of words and agreed. The professor conjured a leash and I passed Sirius to my father.

“I’ll go too,” said Cedric unexpectedly. He smiled ruefully. “I have to get food for my Puffskein.”


	11. Diagonally: Tools of Magic

A bell jingled as we pushed the door open. Unlike every other shop in Diagon Alley, Ollivander’s was tiny, dark and full of dust. Eerie. I observed the place. It was cramped, like all the shops we’d been to, but not because of any disorganization or overly encumbering objects, like cauldrons. No, this space was clear from any ornaments, with just a chair, boxes that probably contained wands only against the walls. The shop itself was just narrow, squeezed between two bigger buildings.

And nobody was in. Mom gently tightened her grip on my hand and nudged me forward. I complied, but still couldn’t shake the feeling something was off.

“Good afternoon.”

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. An old man had appeared in front of us, there in the time I’d taken to examine a shelf. Teleported. His eyes were strange, a blue so pale it looked silver. Some sort of special vision?

“I didn’t mean to frighten, I’m sorry. Here for your first wand?” He didn’t phrase it as a question. Then again, this was a wand shop. “What’s your name?”

I lowered my arms from where they had been at ready, taking a glance up towards my mother, and introduced myself. “Yes. My name is Taylor… Granger.”

“Enchanted to meet you Miss Granger. And Mrs. Granger too.” He nodded at my mother. “Now, which is your dominant hand?”

After measuring me from every possible angle, Mr. Ollivander gave a long but interesting introduction to how wands were usually made and the main components of his own brand of wands. One of three cores and selected wood from magical trees, along with an anecdote about finding one in the middle of a Parisian park. He also gave a guideline of what one should just not do with a wand, and how to care for them. Wands weren’t high-maintenance things, but it seemed they could be happier if kept in good condition. As he spoke, he went around the shop and into the back, collecting a sizeable stack of long, thin boxes.

He took out a dark coloured wand from a box and presented it to me. “Red oak and unicorn hair, nine inches and a half. Springy. Now, just give a wave.”

I picked it up and flicked it using a wrist movement Professor McGonagall had used. The wood seemed to-

“No.” Ollivander had grabbed the wand before it could do more than shoot a single bright spark in the air. He set it back into its box and opened another box from the pile. “Try this one.”

Choosing my wand turned out to be remarkably like shopping for shoes with Lisa. Every time I tried something out, it got snatched away before I could actually do anything with it. Lisa took shoes off my feet or even boxes out of my hands and pushed new ones into them. Ollivander kept passing different wands to me, sometimes barely letting me touch them before he decided they weren’t good. Hornbeam, pine, vine, ebony… with all three types of core.

And as I tried wand after wand, Ollivander growing more and more excited about my difficulties, I noticed something. The wands buzzed. No, not the wands. At the edge of my perception, I could hear indistinct, raspy murmurs. I could feel them, but there was never any time to focus on that white noise because the wandmaker kept pulling the wands from between my fingers. It was frustrating. I knew I was sensing something, something I dared to hope for.

At a wand of applewood and phoenix feather, I saw them. Stars, in my mind. Spiralling out to form a fantastic night sky and… blinking out. Going out of focus, fading a couple of seconds after the wood left my skin. I just barely stopped myself from snapping at the shopkeeper, settling instead for glaring at Ollivander, barely noticing the ash that floated around me.

“Almost, almost… I think I know just the wand for you, Miss Granger.” The old man was as impervious as Lisa to my frustration. He cheerfully hurried to a shelf behind the counter, returning with yet another dusty box. “Fir and dragon heartstrings. Twelve inches, inflexible.”

It was a light-coloured wand, with a simple crisscross pattern of slightly raised wood marking the wand’s handle.

I took it and raised it above my head. My mind exploded into stars.

I closed my eyes, fighting the vertigo. More than I should have been able count, tiny, intricate knots of data unfolded before me. I unfolded, and suddenly I was everywhere. The air, the ground, the buildings, skittering between bricks, flying… I was flies, spiders and worms, things I didn’t know the name of and things that I could barely wrap my head around. And when I twitched a leg, thousands of limbs twitched at my command. I had found them. My powers, slotted neatly into my senses like they’d never left me. Perhaps they hadn’t, and I had only been unable to know they were there. Regardless, I felt like I could breathe again.

“Good, very good, Miss Granger. That is just the wand for you.”

With a sigh, I opened my eyes. A thin coating of frost had covered an area around me. Mom smiled at me with pride even as she brushed glittering snowflakes from her black hair. Mr. Ollivanders was smiling with satisfaction. Then he extended the box towards me for me to put the wand in. Reluctantly, I returned the wand to Ollivanders. But when my fingers left the wood, my power didn’t disappear.


	12. Mirrored Glass: The girl with the unfamiliar Scar

It had been a long month since that day in Diagon Alley.

I hadn’t had time to reflect on how rushed my life had become after meeting the Undersiders. In retrospect, everything had happened so very fast. The bank, Bakuda, the Empire reveal, Leviathan…. The Nine. One after another without barely any time to breathe. And in those instances, I hadn’t been able to rest either. There was always a goal, an enemy, something.

So August had passed by in a slow summer haze. Spending time with my parents had been stressing at first, trying not to give off any strange behavior, but I’d adapted. Walking Sirius with Dad, reading my new school books with Mom, having days out in London, even camping. My parents were obviously trying to give me the best summer ever before I left for Hogwarts. They’d succeeded, but not because of all their efforts. Just being able to be with be my mother again, to rest and unwind, was more than enough. It was like the clock had been turned back and I had returned to those days that, I had come to realize, were the happiest in my life.

The only thing that ruined it was the fact that it probably wasn’t real, and quite possibly a trap.

Initially, I had thought that finding Sirius would give me an inkling of what was going on, a clue for the way out, but no. Sirius was just a dog after all. His presence helped and had me formulating new theories, but it only added more questions to those I already had. Amy Dallon, however….

I got up from the bench and whistled. Sirius raised his head from his paws, ears at attention. I opened the door and, at the threshold, commanded “Sirius. Watch.” The labrador sat up and I left, satisfied.

I hadn’t been idle a whole month. On my copious free time, I had tested whatever training Bitch had given Sirius and reinforced my position as pack leader over him. And with my powers back, I had worked on protecting myself. I’d weaved a full spider-silk costume, simple bodysuit without exoskeleton padding, in the attic of the house. London’s spider population lacked black widows, so I’d made do with common garden orb weavers for silk and false widows for poison. I was wearing a skin tight vest and compression style shorts of the same material right now.

I dropped from the Hogwarts’ Express carriage, scanning the crowd for Amy. I had bugs on her, but distances were tricky in this place. I hadn’t been able to sense the Platform before passing through the barrier and trying to get a measure of both the outside and the inside of the train at the same time had given me a headache. Wizards were proving to be very frustrating indeed.

Amy had moved further into the platform and away from the barrier. I found her standing closer to the wall, in a corner with fewer people milling around. Good. That would make this easier. I stepped aside to dodge a collision and observed her. Amy didn’t look much better than the last time I’d seen her. Less scared, for certain, but still small and wary. Actually, I noticed as the distance between us shortened, she seemed too small. I’d always been tall, but as an eleven years old Amy was tiny. Or was that the large, too large, clothes she was wearing, sitting on top of her trunk?

The large white owl that she had with her hooted at my approach and Amy turned from watching the crowd, meeting my eyes. I stopped a couple of steps away and waved. “Hello” I said. Amy returning the greeting weakly, but there was no sign that she had recognized me. I directed a ladybug from the small of my back to my fingers and pretended to examine it where she could see it. "I was wondering…. Does the name Panacea mean anything to you?"

Recognition, shock and half a dozen other emotions crossed her face before she shot back "Does Skitter to you?"

“Yeah.” I nodded and indicated the train. “I’ve got an empty compartment in the train. We can talk more there.”

Amy shied back, shooting a quick glance at the train and the crowd around it. Not good. She was being too suspicious, too guarded. I needed her to trust me. We couldn’t talk about anything here, in the middle of the train station, but Amy obviously felt better by having witnesses around.

I struck my hand out. “I’m Taylor. Taylor Granger.”

She looked at my hand for a moment before taking it. I felt a prickling run up my arm, but kept my composure. Finally, she let go of my hand and rose to her feet. “I’m... Amy, ah, Potter.” She brushed her now long hair away from her face and I saw a scar on her forehead.

That was new. It looked too old and healed to have happened recently, and it was distinctly shaped like a lightning bolt. What had happened? I didn’t have time to think about it. The insects with Sirius stirred to keep a better track of a pair of boys that seemed to be considering my compartment, watch dog or not.

“Want help with that?” I gestured to the large trunk and the owl in the cage.

“Yeah, hm…. Thanks.”

Together we pushed the cart to the train and got her things on board with some difficulty. I’d had my father to help for my things and it had been much less crowded. Moving the heavy trunk in the narrow hallway was complicated with people running around and we bumped into several assholes that wouldn’t move out of the way. Sirius started barking loudly and I excused myself, running ahead.

“Sirius. Down.” I barked over the noise and turned to the older boys, a pair of red-haired twins younger than me, originally. “It’s occupied.”

“We just wanted to know who’d brought a dog” said one. “It’s brilliant. Filch is going to freak” continued the other. “Yeah. You think your dog is up for chasing down a certain cat?” The first twin wiggled his eyebrows.

“What’s going on?” Amy asked from behind me, pushing her trunk along.

I opened my mouth to tell her they were just leaving, when one of the boys leaned forward, eyes wide. “Fred. Is that?” “I think it is, George.” “I can’t believe it.” “Neither can I. Wicked.” I felt more than heard Amy sigh. The twins, Fred and George, looked at each other, at us, then at Sirius and finally, nodding at each other, turned around to leave. “See you around!” They whispered conspiratorially as they walked away, shooting glances at us. Or more correctly, at Amy.

I closed the compartment’s door behind us and watched as Amy shoved her trunk carelessly into a corner and sunk into the seat. Sirius and her bird greeted each other, the labrador sniffing the owl’s lowered beak before it decided the dog was bothering it and clapped its beak, straightening imperiously.

“So,” I sat myself in front of her and asked casually, “what was that all about?”

Amy was silent for a few seconds, staring at me. I let her. “It… seems like I’m a celebrity in here too.” She shrugged and expounded tiredly. “Except I’m not famous for being New Wave’s miracle healer but for, well,” she waved at the scar, “surviving.”


	13. Mirrored Glass: The Cupboard

I woke up in the dark.

The mattress was hard, the air chilly and the blankets scratchy against my skin. Not home. Of course not. Probably a shelter somewhere, judging by the accommodations. My head hurt. I swear, if I didn’t remember last night because some Merchant roofied me I was going to… do something. I scoffed to myself. I really was pathetic. I needed to remember what had happened. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that hard. Disjointed, surreal but...

Running from the Siberian. Running to the Siberian. Skitter. Riding those dogs and catching up to her and her turning and jumping towards us and- Waking up.

Oh God. Oh Fuck.

Now my eyes were wide open, any traces of sleep gone, swept away by panic. More than justified panic. The last thing I remembered was the Siberian jumping at me, ready to eat more of…

My fingers.

I fumbled in the dark, untangling my hands from the blankets. It didn’t hurt that much. Had to be the shock, I was shaking. I could feel them. Phantom limb syndrome, whispered a part of me, coldly, clinically. I couldn’t see them but I could feel with them and I could feel them. Something wasn’t right here. This was too real. Even in the dark I saw… I saw my fingers intact. I couldn’t suppress a whimper, whether or relief of distress I wasn’t sure, as I touched them. From fingertip to knuckle, all there.

But the Siberian had… the Siberian had bitten them off. I remembered that all too clearly. Skitter had helped me clean the… missing places. Was I hallucinating? Were phantom limbs this real or were they actually real? Had I gotten them back somehow? Gotten healed? How?

How had I have even survived the Siberian going nuclear? I should be dead.

Was I dead?

I thought it with a start and ended up hitting my head on something hard and painful. I managed to bite down a cry but tears sprang to my eyes. If this was death, it was still painful.

“Fuck.” The curse echoed in the silence, reminding me of my surroundings, dark and cramped.

I was trapped. The walls seemed to press down on me. There was one possibility, one horrible possibility that explained my state and I didn’t want to think it. I felt along the walls instead, carefully discovering shelves, where I’d hit myself on, clothing, books, an umbrella, bits and pieces. The ceiling was angled and low but not enough, I thought, for it to be impossible to stand. There was a door, wooden and worn. It was from those cracks that came the little light I had. Just enough for it to not be pitch black, barely enough to distinguish some contours. My hands, the mattress, other unidentifiable things. The only thing it confirmed was the complete unfamiliarity of this place.

A spider skittered lazily across my arm. I stopped, feeling its legs on my skin. But only the feather-light touch of its legs. Nothing else. I should have recognized the absence earlier. It had only been four, five days since I’d felt this powerless. Literally. My powers were being blocked.

Bonesaw.

She could have done this to me, she’d done it before with Hack Job. I shuddered at the memory, only to hug myself at the idea that she had likely fixed me too. I ran my thumb over where my palm met my fingers. There was no stitch or scar I could feel. The Nine had me. Why was I this calm? I was in the custody of the Slaughterhouse Nine, probably at the request of Bonesaw. I had every reason in the world to be breaking into hysterics but I only felt… empty.

I hugged my arms around myself, digging my nails into my arms. The pain was little, but it was something. I dug them in harder.

My body wasn’t right, nothing was right, and I was helpless against it all. That was probably why I couldn’t find energy in myself to feel anything but this hopelessness.

It was dark. Victoria loved waking me up by throwing the curtains open. I needed more sunlight, she said, like I was a flower. The noise the blinds in my room made being opened just wasn’t enough, that was all. I often had trouble falling asleep so I overslept. Victoria was always up sinfully early, even when she patrolled at night.

I must have drifted off, because the voices startled me. How long had I just been there, sitting with my back against the wall?

There were three voices. I didn’t recognize any of them. A woman, shrill; a man, booming, and a boy, probably. They sounded, even with words indistinct through the plaster and wood, like characters straight out of one of those rom-com shows. A perfect, idyllic, ridiculous fake family. Bonesaw had wanted a sister, hadn’t she?

When was the laugh track going to play?

“Where is the girl?” I froze, pressed myself harder against the wall. Who could they be talking about but me? “Useless … is ...?” There were footsteps. Going away, then towards me. I held my breath and they passed by the door, just outside. But before I could be relieved they were coming back.

The door opened and a woman looked down at me. I didn’t know her. She was blonde and thin, but not healthily like Carol and Aunt Sarah. The woman scowled deeply and shut the door with a bang. “If you’re not in the kitchen in five minutes, you don’t get dinner!” She screeched.

What?

What was going on? I couldn’t breathe. Wet trails, tears, ran down my cheeks and I struggled to be quiet. I didn’t dare move from my place. Not when the woman came back and there was the rattling sound of a key turning in the darkness. Not when I started smelling meat roasting or when there was the clinking of silverware. I just tucked the blanket tighter around myself.

I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand anything at all.


	14. Mirrored Glass: Wrong

I fell asleep, eventually. Not an easy sleep, but I hadn’t had a single full night of shuteye that wasn’t fueled by exhaustion since… well, since Leviathan. The woman from before startled me awake, banging on the door, telling me to get up. I didn’t want to. What was the point? I was sore all over and my fingers hurt too. Then the smell of bacon frying waffed over and I realized I was really, really hungry. That was another thing. I felt pain, I felt hunger and thirst. This was no paltry illusion. So I got up. There was no point in staying in hiding when they could come and get me at any time.

The doorknob mystified me for a long moment. It was chest height. Most doorknobs came around my waist level. I swallowed my confusion and suspicions and opened the door. A hallway stretched to my left and right. The walls were white, there were happy pictures frames hung at neat intervals and a small table with fresh flowers. And behind me was the stairwell. I’d just come out of a cupboard, the kind that filled in the space under the stairs.

That wasn’t really shocking. What made me stop was the scale of everything around me. The doorknob. It wasn’t the door that was big, it was me who was small. Smaller.

Out of the dark cupboard, I looked down at myself. I nearly swam inside my clothes, a enormous t-shirt and a pair of shorts that hung over knobby knees. Yet for all my skinniness, my hands and cheeks were slightly chubby. Baby fat, just like when I had been a kid. I didn’t think I had ever been this thin when I was young, I’d lost weight only more recently, but otherwise… I needed a mirror to check.

My stomach took that moment to announce how displeased it was with me. I moved to the tiled kitchen I saw to my right. The bacon smelled delicious but it was marred by the sight of the woman standing in front of the pan, a flowery apron around her waist.

“Watch over the bacon and don’t let it burn,” she snapped at me.

I did. What was I supposed to do? There were so many questions I wanted to ask: who was she, where was I, what was going on? I didn’t think she would answer me. It was the way she’d ordered me and how she scowled when she caught me observing her. I turned back to my task. The sight of bacon sizzling on the pan was almost too much. Would anything happen if I grabbed a strip?

Then the owners of the two other voices I had heard came in, a father and son pair. They couldn’t be more different from the woman. Fat, obese, jiggling balls of lard. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so repugnant. The boy in particular couldn’t have been older than thirteen, but he was heading for a heart-attack at twenty. I was suddenly very glad I didn’t have my power. That level of lipids was disgusting, no matter how you perceived it.

The boy caught me staring and swung a stick at me with a nasty smile on his face. What the fuck? It hit me on the shin. “Ow!”

“Good one Dudley!” The man laughed, then turned to kiss the woman’s cheek. “Good morning Pet.”

And just like that, the day continued as normal. Like the boy, Dudley, hadn’t hit me with a walking stick of some kind. Pet, which couldn’t be her full name, shooed me from where I was as I gaped and started serving breakfast. It took me a moment to realize they actually had a plate for me. They ignored me completely, unless it was to look at me disapprovingly.

Only when a sound was heard from outside did I finally get acknowledged.

“Go get the mail, Dudley,” drawled Vernon, not taking his eyes from the newspaper. A newspaper from 1991. Strangely, it fit. The kitchen was old-fashioned. So were the clothes the woman was wearing, and the way she had her hair done. I’d peg it as a fifties style, more or less a decade. Not like I knew anything about fashion myself, that was Vicky’s territory...

“Make Amy get it.”

“Go get the mail, Amy.”

I gladly left the kitchen.

I wasn’t religious. Nobody in my family, in New Wave, really was. Except maybe Eric, who’d prayed before the fight against Leviathan... Anyway, I didn’t believe in the afterlife. Maybe we were wrong about that, because surely I was in Hell. I had probably died at the hands of the Siberian and been sent here for my sins. No nightmare or illusion could be this real and this painful. This perfectly tailored to me.

Three blondes, a happy family with a happily married couple and a beloved son. Except for one little thing. The adopted kid. Me. A twisted version of my… my family. In looks, in behavior, in the way Vernon was a happy man, and Petunia a good house-wife, and Dudley…. And they hated me. They reviled me. Every look and glower I’d received from Carol this last month, the way they ignored me like Victoria had had to ever since….

A twisted, twisted version of my family, like all my nightmares and insecurities brought to life. Because I had twisted Victoria? It fit. Irony, right?

So yeah, definitely Hell.

I dropped the letters that had been in the mailbox on the table and went back to my bacon. I wasn’t going to start crying now. I wasn’t…

“Dad! Amy has mail!” Exclaimed Dudley suddenly.

My head snapped up to see him waving a letter over his head. It looked like it was made of heavier paper. Then Vernon’s hand shot forth with a speed I didn’t think he’d be capable of achieving and ripped it from his hands. He opened it and read a couple of lines at most, face becoming paler and paler. He and Petunia shared a long look, the woman bracing herself on the counter and giving a little whimper at whatever she saw in his face. Their eyes turned to me.

They were afraid.

That hurt. Even from these people, that hurt.

Dudley and I got thrown out of the kitchen. He raged, screamed and cried to no avail, and hit me with his stick as a form of protest. I ran and went to look for a bathroom in this unknown house instead. There turned out to exist one in the first floor.

On the mirror, there I was, but not as I knew myself. Younger. I didn’t think I’d ever looked like this before. I was a mess. My hair had reached nightmare-levels of frizziness and my freckles had decided to follow its example and were everywhere. That was before one counted the bags underneath my bloodshot eyes. I sniffed. How had this happened? I really didn’t know anything anymore. Dying and being in Hell was always a possibility. Probably better than being at the mercy of the Slaughterhouse Nine. But it had evolved into such a nonsense of too many things that I just didn’t care anymore. I had been de-aged. Who, what, how the fuck?

“Wait.” On my forehead. That hadn’t been there before. A lightning bolt scar. I prodded it carefully. A searing pain shot through my head and I withdrew my fingers with a hiss. A blinding headache pounded beneath my forehead as I squinted at my young reflection.

Hell.


	15. Mirrored Glass: Running about

That morning, Vernon kindly took me aside and explained that since I was growing up so fast, I would be getting my own room as an early birthday present. He made it sound like I should be grateful, I knew that tone well enough.

Dudley threw a fit because he used that room to store his stuff. I was expecting something like a big closet, but it was an actual room, with an old bed and everything. After I got over being completely appalled, I felt tempted to punch him. But Dudley had at least fifty pounds and a full foot on me. His parents wouldn’t blink if he hit me back. Chances were they’d cheer him on.

So I moved my meager possessions from the cupboard to my new room. And then I spent the next couple of days locked in. Petunia brought me food, always cold, and supervised me on my to and from the bathroom just next door. 

I was starting to think this was some sort of ploy. The Dursleys, a name I’d overheard from the window, were doing their very best to stop somebody from contacting me. Who it was that wanted to talk to me, by letter I might add, I had no clue. It just brought more questions to the fore. Who were the Dursley? Captors, guardians, mastered minions? And where was I? From the window I could only see white, picket fence houses with neat front yards.

I would ask for a newspaper, if I thought I had a chance I’d get it. Worse, I might lose some meals if I did and I didn’t want to experience that hunger again. That almost bone-deep, physically painful gnawing in my stomach.

I had also considered making an escape. I could wait until Petunia came to feed me and bolt. Leaving the house couldn’t be that hard. If I really got desperate, I could always jump through the window. A two-storey drop wasn’t that much, most people didn’t even break bones from it. Micro-fractures, sprains, bruises? Yes. But no fractures, not if it was done right. The problem was: then what? I didn’t know what was out there and I looked like an ten year old kid. Who would take me seriously and help? If there was anybody out there who would. I didn’t even know when was out there, or if there really was an 'out there', for god's sake.

Maybe this was all just in my head. A fever dream or something. Either way, and knowing both my dreams and my luck, I didn’t think I’d manage to… what? Go back? I didn’t even know what to do. So I waited for an opportunity to present itself. I explored my room, read books and tried not to get very bored. Getting bored usually meant I started thinking about how hopeless this all was, or worse things. Like what I had done.

Things weren’t idle outside. Dudley came by to make noise, call me names and generally just be an annoyance. But he told me things too. More letters had started arriving. He didn’t seem to know why, apparently just as confused as I was. Who’d want to speak with me after all? And why try so hard?

Vernon was losing it. On my third day locked in, Dudley told me he had nailed up the mail slot. The next day letters had apparently been coming in from under the door and Vernon barricaded the doors, preventing anybody from coming in or out of the house. Petunia had started looking scared, gnawing her lip and wringing her hands. Dudley was pissed and spent a lot of time raging at my door, telling me it was my fault before going away to play videogames.

I started regretting not making an escape earlier. With the doors closed, there was nowhere to run if Vernon decided to do something drastic. I didn’t even have the window anymore, because of all the windows in the house, mine was the one he’d remembered to board up. I tried getting the planks loose, but none of the junk cluttering around the room gave me enough leverage, not with my skinny arms. Once again, a time in which I wished for a simple straightforward power like Victoria’s. So much of my life’s problems would be gone if I could only just punch things hard enough. Instead of having my powers. Which I didn’t even have right now.

I was trapped.

The fifth day, I didn’t get breakfast. There was a commotion downstairs and I heard Vernon yelling before his footsteps thundered up the stairs. He was half covered in sooth, his beady eyes barely visible in a face purple with rage. A familiar letter was crumpled in his fist. I pressed myself against the wall and prepared to dive under his arms.

“You.” He took a deep breath and his mustache trembled furiously, but his coloration went from eggplant to tomato. Well, there went the chances of a convenient heart-attack. “Pack your things. In the car in five minutes.” And in under five minutes he had everybody in the car. Dudley was crying, since his father hadn’t let him bring all of his stuff, but the man had looked so dangerous and big that no arguments were heard.

And then we drove on and on and on.

I stopped thinking that they were going to kill me and dump the body after the fourth or fifth time the maniac on the wheel did a complete one-hundred-and-eighty to shake them off. Whoever it was, but most likely whoever was behind the letters. I didn’t ask. Vernon kept muttering under his breath, twitching periodically. Looking out the window, I read the signs, saw the sights, and only got more confused. I didn’t get any real confirmation until night fell and we stopped in a dingy hotel at the entrance of Cokeworth. The TV was on during dinner and I caught the news.

The day was the twenty-eighth of July, and the weather was going to be windy tomorrow. Storms were expected by nightfall.

In southern England. That explained the accents. Also: in 1991. Which explained much, but not the lack of any mentions to the King’s Men, or capes. Or anything.

That was it. Tomorrow I was going to find a way to escape, no matter what.

* * *

 

The opportunity came mid-afternoon. I would have tried to sneak away just after breakfast but didn’t get the chance. Vernon had dragged us all out of the hotel, barely remembering to pay for our stay, when a clerk had come asking about the hundred or so letters at the front desk. They were persistent, I’d give them that, but I’d really rather have the fat-ass calm down so I could run off.

Unable to escape the mysterious letters of green ink of doom, Vernon got even more paranoid. He now avoided urban areas and started to make brief stops in isolated places, taking just enough time to step out of the car and survey the general area. Dudley kept moaning about his misfortune next to me, but even he’d proposed that his father had simply lost his marbles. As for me, I waited until Vernon finally stopped somewhere appropriate.

The forest was perfect. After passing the treeline, it would be easy to hide until the Dursleys gave up, or to follow along the road under the cover of the shrubbery. The nearest village wasn’t that far away, I thought. Vernon stopped the car and leveraged himself with difficulty out of his seat. I unclipped my seatbelt as quietly as I could. He examined the trees like a meerkat, grumbling to himself. As soon as he gets in again, I told myself. He shook his head, like he had done the previous dozen times, and opened the driver seat door.

I opened mine and ran. I’d just gotten to the treeline amongst cries of shock, when Vernon finally got his shit together. He roared like a madman, barreling into the vegetation after me. I weaved into the bushes. I had underestimated how fast he could be, the length of his strides and the force of his fury. I’d also overestimated my own fitness, but I knew I could beat him in a contest of endurance. I just needed to keep ahead. Just-

I tripped and face-planted on the dirt. The sharp pain of a cramped muscle pulsed in my calf. No! This couldn’t be happening. I tried to stand but my leg gave under me. Fuck it, fuck me!

“You little freak!” The hunter had caught me. I had to get up. Now, Amy, now!

I scrambled, but a meaty hand got me by my shoulder and spun me around. He was going to strike me. I raised my arms and. And a tingling wave swept across my skin. Vernon yelped and let me go.

I took a reflexive step back and looked down on my hands. I didn’t need my eyes. I was looking for something far too small to be seen by the naked eye. But I could sense it. I knew this feeling. Constantly in motion, living, a background noise I didn’t think I’d ever miss so much. I laughed.

Vernon’s second backhand connected sent me to the ground. Ow, fucker. But I wasn’t really mad, even as he marched me over to the road again by the neck, half-strangling me. I had it back. I could feel Vernon, predictably unhealthy, fat and muscle and bones and stomach. Wow, was he under a huge amount of stress. But what I liked was being able to feel the staphylococcus on my skin again. The round bacteria going about their life, simple metabolisms just re-treading the same path as they had for millions of years. I’d missed this, just watching as they went about their programmed life, uncaring about the greater world. They replicated, divided, grew…

… disappeared.

Wait.

No. Where were they going? Wait!

One by one the bacteria faded from my perception, Vernon’s physiology losing definition until it was just… gone.

And then that asshole threw me. I curled in, covering my head but no other blow came. I looked up just in time to see him close the trunk’s lid. With me inside.

“No! Fuck!” I yelled and kicked the trunk’s roof. “Fuck you! Fuck! You!”

The car started, rumbling under me. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. He’d left me in the trunk of his fucking car. That was dangerous. This was dangerous. Shit.

No, I had been trained for this. Getting kidnapped 101. What if somebody decides potential parahumans are good enough to piss off the New Wave and, paragraph 3 or something, grab you and shove you in a trunk? I remembered Uncle Neil talking to us in his house, trying to make a bunch of kids understand how serious what they were going to do was. Victoria lapped it up, of course.

The state of mind was surprisingly easy to slip into. This was no Slaughterhouse Nine. I’d been through that. This was just old, fat Vernon Dursley who locked me in a room and slapped me around. He didn’t literally cobble people together or practice cannibalism.

I had to keep calm. These things weren’t airtight, but hyperventilating was still a danger. Other than regular asphyxiation, the problem was hyperthermia. And it was the middle of summer. In England, but summer. Fuck. I struggled to remember the weather forecast. I hadn’t paid attention to the temperatures but I remembered the promise of a storm. It had been overcast and it was past the time of greater heat. No need to panic.

Did cars in the Nineties have safety release mechanisms? I didn’t think so, but I still tried to find something, anything.

I could survive this, I just had to remain calm. I just… had to remain calm.

My fingers were hurting again.


	16. Mirrored Glass: Rocks on a stormy Sea

The cold sea breeze felt heavenly against my face. Every occasional drop of rain was a welcome balm. The clouds covered the sky from one edge to the other and the grey waves rolled uneasily, hints of foam appearing as they broke against the pier’s rocks.

A storm was coming.

Good one. Point for melodrama, me.

Vernon was not here. He’d gone… off, somewhere. I couldn’t muster any energy to run. As it was, I was using the little I had left to stay standing. Both of my legs and an arm had fallen asleep, that fucking cramp was still there and my back had innumerable new knots. My cheek stung and everything else felt like jelly. The worse were my fingers. They hurt. I flexed them periodically, checking if everything was alright.

It was strange. Maybe it was the sight of the agitated ocean... sea? Was this the Atlantic, the North Sea or the Channel? It didn’t really matter. But it had just dawned on me again how unreal this was. Which was strange, in a way, since there were no capes or powers on anything strange. Besides those letters. The world was so ordinary that it felt… too normal to be real. Surreal.

I was too tired to move but not tired enough to not think. As Vernon returned with an old man in tow, I couldn’t but think that he was Mark’s complete opposite in both attitude and physique. I’d resented Mark a few times. We both did, but as we grew up it started being clear to us that it wasn’t his fault, that he was just ill.

I missed Mark. I hoped I hadn’t fucked up with him.

Vernon got us into a dingy rowboat and, while I wondered how it wasn’t sinking under the weight, got us out to a little cabin on a rock in the middle of the stormy sea, if the structure could be called a cabin at all. The shack looked for all purposes like a good wave could sweet it off the rock whole. Only Vernon seemed to not realize that, looking in fact very happy with himself. Well, if I died tonight, again or not, I had the consolation that the Dursleys would too. I really was a horrible person. Maybe Dudley’s fat would give him enough buoyancy. Petunia could cling to her husband and I’d just swim to the shore before running like hell.

The weather worsened as we ate a miserable dinner. I consoled myself that this time at least, the Dursleys ate the same as me. However, Dudley got the single, old couch, so I was left to find a minimally comfortable position on the slightly wet, hard floor.

The minutes ticked by. Even as lethargic as I felt, the sleep wouldn’t come. The storm raged just outside the thin wooden walls. Then,

BOOM

The whole building shook. The crash came again, nearly taking the door off its hinges. A brute was knocking at the door of a hut, on a rock, in the sea, during a storm. Complete nonsense.

It had to be something to do with the letters.

What should I do? Vernon took that choice away, crashing into our room with a fucking rifle, shouting “Go away! I’m armed! And I tell you, I’m-”

BOOOM

The door finally succumbed, crashing to the ground.

A giant of a man peered inside the hut before squeezing himself in. He had to bend over slightly to fit in, being easily nine feet tall and proportionally larger. With a wildman’s hair, draped in leathers and furs, he looked like Fenja and Menja’s smaller, hairier viking cousin. The Dursleys had dropped into complete silence. Then he picked up the door, somehow still in one piece, and slotted back it in the doorway.

“There yeh go.” He passed a hand on his beard, rinsing the water from it, and gave the four of us a glance over. “Yeh coul’ have made me some tea. It wasn’ an easy trip, yeh know?” His eyes settled on me and I saw him smile. “An’ here’s Amy!” He took a long stride towards me, sunk down into a crouch that didn’t help the height difference that much and smiled warmly. “Yeh’re so grown up! Las’ time I saw yeh, yeh were a tiny little baby. You look jus’ like yer dad... but yeh’ve got yer mom’s nose.” He sniffed emotionally, took out a handkerchief from somewhere in his huge coat and blew his nose. Then, somehow looking sheepish despite his stature, he took out a box from another pocket. “Almos’ forgot. Got summat for yeh here, Amy. Might be a bit squashed but er…. A very happy birthday to yeh.”

My… parents? My birthday? I accepted the package, my nose already telling me what it was. Cake? Yes, it was a chocolate cake with my name on it. “Er. Thank you.” My birthday was in October. “You… knew them? My parents?”

“O’ course I knew ‘em! Knew ‘em since they were students at Hogwarts, I did!” He seemed to realize something. “Ah, righ’, yeh don’ know who I am. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Jus’ call me Hagrid, everybody does.” He offered me his hand for a handshake. It was the size of a dinner plate. Or bigger.

“Nice to meet you.” I supposed. I accepted the handshake and regretted it as he nearly tore my arm off with his enthusiasm. Still, I didn’t think he’d done it maliciously. There was a sort of eagerness, of friendliness in this Hagrid that I hadn’t seen for a long time. It was nice. “I don’t suppose you could answer me a few questions?”

“O’ course I can!” Hagrid nodded. Somewhere to my left, Petunia squeaked like a mouse being stepped on.

“So, what’s up with the letters? Are you the one behind them?” Hagrid blinked his beady eyes at me, seemingly at a loss. I pressed on. “What about… Hogwarts?” Should I ask about me just being here? Wherever this whole world was? Would he be able to answer me? Also, something that had been bothering me. “And how did you even get here?”

“Wha’... Yeh… Yeh...” He stood up suddenly, looming over the Dursleys. Hagrid’s jaw worked to form words. His head strained against the ceiling, forming an intimidating picture, and his shoulders trembled with rage. Dudley squealed and literally hid behind his mother’s skirts. All three of their faces were pale like wax. “Are yeh tellin’ me this girl doesn’ know about anythin’? Anything!?” He boomed.

So, Vernon shoot him. I’d seen this happen too many times to count. It was just like seeing some two-bit thug with an itchy finger, suddenly faced with the weight of not Victoria Dallon’s, but Glory Girl’s aura. They pulled the trigger.

Inside the hut, the shot boomed like thunder from the storm outside.

Hagrid reacted eerily similar to Victoria. No, he showed restraint, compared to my sister. He took a hand to his shoulder, slipped his fingers under the fur coat and retrieve a squished piece of lead with a grunt. Just as blank-faced as Victoria was when the bullets fell down to the ground and pinged quietly. Then his face hardened. He reached forward, took the gun from the bastard’s hands and then tied it around his wrists like it was made of rubber instead of metal. Good old brute trick when zip-ties aren’t available.

Vernon’s mouth moved up and down but no sound came out. His eyes moved from his wrists to Hagrid in quick succession. He squeaked. Petunia pulled him and Dudley into the other room and slammed the door.

Hagrid stood silently for a few moments, then sank down on the moldy couch, springs protesting under his weight. “Can’ believe it.” He ran his hands over his face, scratched the top of his head, muttering to himself. “So yeh don’ know. About Hogwarts, yer parents?” I shook my head. “Magic?” He sounded almost hopeful.

I was still trying to figure out why I was ten again. “Sorry?”

“Blimey Amy. Yeh, yeh’ve nothin’ to be sorry about...” He took a deep breath, face turning serious. “Amy, yeh’re a witch.”

I... was pretty sure he didn’t mean it that way. “You mean, I have powers?” I used to, anyway.

“Yep.” Hagrid nodded. “Don’ things sometimes happen when yeh’re scared or angry?”

There was some sort of miscommunication going on here. I didn’t think we were talking about the same thing… or maybe we were. Back in the forest, something had happened. “Yeah.”

“That’s yer magic!”

“And my parents?” I insisted.

Hagrid sobered. “Yer parents… yer parents were the best wizards I ever knew. Head boy an’ girl at Hogwarts. And after….” He stopped and stared at me for a moment, looking completely out of his depth. “How can yeh, Amy Potter, not know yer story when every kid in our world knows yer name? They were heroes, Amy... Yeh’re… Yeh’re a hero.”

* * *

 

“Survive?” Skitter frowned. The girl named Taylor.

I hadn’t been expecting that. But then again, I’d been holding on to her when it’d happened. So it made a sort of sense. It looked like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t in a coma somewhere, dreaming a world of wizards, witches and their secret society. Or maybe I was, and this was just the way my brain decided to screw me over, by sticking bug-girl with me. And that was a bit unfair. She hadn’t done anything yet.

At least I wasn’t alone anymore.

“Yeah. It’s, hm… Do you know who Grindelwald was?”

She nodded. “I know some. Magic Hitler, basically? He used the second World War’s chaos to try and topple the government, and then he wanted to enslave normal people. Like those parahuman supremacists.” Well, she knew a lot already. I raised an eyebrow. Skitter shrugged her shoulders. “I was just reading something about that.”

“Right. Do you know about Voldemort then?”

“I’ve seen his name mentioned once or twice. Another Dark Wizard?”

“Yep. A british one.” Though the name was clearly french for some reason. “Voldemort was like Allfather or Kaiser to Grindelwald. A neo-nazi to the nazi. He had his own Empire 88, called the Death Eaters.” I smiled at the name, even if it wasn’t funny at all. “They had something against muggles, but mostly against muggleborns.” I noticed Skitter frowning. “Apparently, my mother here was a muggleborn so…”

“Brandish?” She asked.

“No.” And thank god for that, for varied reasons. “My… biological mother? I don’t know. You’re the first person from… well, from home that I’ve met.”

She processed that and patted the black dog by our feet. “Sirius is from home too.”

“Really?” One of Hellhound’s dogs? Were there other people we knew out there?

“Yeah. You were saying?”

“Right, right. So, anyway, my parents were being hunted.” It was still strange, thinking of my parents, my real parents, being hunted by a villain. But they had been heroes, here. “One day he caught them and, well, he killed them.”

Skitter twitched slightly. It was easier to read her without the full-face mask. And the cloud of creepy-crawlies, that too. “Sorry.”

I shrugged, self-consciously. “It’s okay. I never knew them, and it’s not like I’m sure they were my real parents anyway.” Sometimes I wondered if I’d feel the same about Marquis. If he’d been killed, would I mourn him? I didn’t remember him either.

“So… you survived?” That wasn’t a particularly skilled topic change.

“Supposedly, Voldemort tried to kill me next. I was one and he was a baby-killing bastard.” I couldn’t help but frown. Hearing Hagrid talking about him, you’d think he was talking about Jack Slash. He’d certainly been cut from the same cloth. “He… dunno, cast his spell of death,” I gestured vaguely, “and when the dust settled the house was destroyed, I was still alive and he’d disappeared.”

She leaned forward. “Disappeared?

“Dead. Or at least, close enough. The popular opinion is that he’s still roaming around like a ghost, too weak to do anything. People are actually still scared of saying his name. They call him You-Know-Who to avoid saying Voldemort, like… well, like some people avoid mentioning the Endbringers.” Hagrid thought he wasn’t even human anymore. Something like Crawler or the Blasphemies. I honestly couldn’t even begin to compare a man, no matter how powerful, to those monsters. Not even Eidolon. They were just…. “Anyway, the people he had mastered suddenly snapped out of it and the war turned around in a single night. End of story, I got this scar from his last curse and became a national hero.” And I’d gotten stranded with the Dursleys, but who cared about that?

Skitter hummed and sat back, observing me. “I see.”

She was… not very unlike what I’d expected. Tall, lanky, skittering almost. I’d already known how her hair was from the bank and I’d gotten an idea of her general bone structure from that particular fiasco after Leviathan. I couldn’t visualize faces, that wasn’t how my powers worked, but I’d gotten the impression of a long face, a wider mouth. Glasses for her myopia. I could see hints of those final traits in this child. I’d probably find her serious countenance cute for a ten year old… if I hadn’t known what she was capable of.

The train whistled sharply and the platform burst into frantic movement. We looked out of the window, seeing parents and children hurry before the train left them behind. There was an annoyed hoot behind me and I turned to see my owl puff up her feathers at the increasing noise.

I reached to scratch her head and couldn’t help but reminisce.


	17. Mirrored Glass: Seeing the Other Side

Hagrid spent a lot of time explaining the magical world to me that night. I finally got my letter and we had tea with sausages and chocolate cake. The Dursleys didn’t dare bother us. All in all, the best night I had ever since waking up on the other side of the pond. And possibly, of the interdimensional universe.

Hagrid was, I’d found, something of a gentle giant. He kept mice and owls in his pockets, liked tea and, sometimes, was very careful with me. Powerful brutes were like that with normal people. Still, when morning came, I had to stop him from getting to Vernon and doing something he’d regret. I didn’t really care about him, but I didn’t want Hagrid to get in trouble. Vernon wasn’t worth it. I didn’t think wizards could be excused from straight up murder. I even managed to convince him that I had tripped in the stairs.

We caught a train to London and, after many strange looks our way, I finally got a good look at my reflection while helping Hagrid with ‘muggle money’. Hagrid’s fury was understandable, and so were the concerned glances the teller threw at me. An ugly, purple bruise had bloomed from my cheekbone to my jaw. It explained the ache I had when I opened my mouth.

But aside from that, everything was fine and dandy… until we entered the Leaky Cauldron.

Then I discovered that being The-Girl-Who-Lived, hyphenated and capitalized, was actually a lot like being Panacea. Namely, the part in which I got mobbed by… admirers.

“Amy Potter!” “An honour, a true honour to finally meet you…” “Dear me, what happened to you?” “Welcome back Ms. Potter!” “Crockford, Doris Crockford at your service.” “Please, Ms. Potter…”

My favored strategy was to go ‘no comment’ and move on. I’d never been the social one, the media-darling Victoria was. My uniform actually hid my face pretty well, something Carol had always disapproved of. This was much like the first weeks after I’d officially debuted. Back then, I cowered behind Victoria and let her take the lead. Here, I hid behind Hagrid until he finally got the hint and ushered me out of the pub.

I could only hope that, much like what had happened to Panacea, the worship would die out as people got used to see me around.

Hagrid took me straight to an Apothecary, which did look like a pharmacist. From the Middle Ages. Roots, plants and animals parts in sacks, barrels and boxes; shelves lined with potions, ointments and plasters; a witch in a pointy hat at the register. This place, more than anything else in Diagon Alley, looked like something out of a magic book.

Hagrid pushed my reluctant self inside the shop. “Err, ‘scuse me. Would yeh have summat fer bruises?”

The woman took one good look at my face, gasped and rushed from behind the counter. “Oh dear, how did this happen?” Her eyes alternated between my forehead and my cheek.

“I fell down the stairs.” Yes, that was the excuse I was using. In a hospital, it would have invited a quiet investigation. This witch’s eyebrows rose in incredulity. “Could I have something for my leg too? I think I might have sprained it when I fell.” But I was a much better liar than a ten or eleven year old child. Seeing as I was seventeen and all.

“Right deary,” Urgh. “This will be just an instant.” She took out a stick, a wand, from her robes and, while muttering some gibberish, poked me right on the bruise. It didn’t hurt. Instead, I felt a cool sensation spread from the point of contact. “There.”

That… was kind of amazing. As fast as I was. I prodded and checked her work as Hagrid insisted that he’d pay her back and she rebutted that it had been an honor and it wasn’t necessary, etcetera….

Gringotts, the bank, had logically been our next stop. The only shopping that could be done without cash was window-shopping. Hagrid had assured me that my parents, the Potters, had left me their fortune. But...

“Okay…. This is… ah…” I gazed at the piles of gold, silver and bronze coins that littered the vault. My vault. Some of the stacks were taller than me. “...a lot.” I turned to the stoic goblin that had driven us here. “How much is this worth? In dollars. Err, pounds?”

“Currently, the exchange rate is five pounds to a galleon, approximately…”

“That’s okay.” I interrupted him. “Thank you, I think I got the idea…” I was swimming in shit-loads of money. Quite possibly literally too. All I’d have to do was build a pool…. Fortune was severely underselling it.

“... the exchange rate how many pounds to galleon again?”

But the best part of that day hadn’t been that. It hadn’t been getting my wand and my powers back with it, either. Far from it. The best part was when Hagrid took me to the Owl Emporium.

There were a lot of owls, of a dozen different species and thrice as many colors, but only one for me. A beautiful snowy owl, almost pure white, that had proudly regarded me from her perch. Graceful and dignified, she had reminded me so much of...

“Victoria.”

I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but she didn’t accept any other name after that.


	18. Trouble Bound: Gathering Information

With two long, sharp whistles, the train started moving, slowly at first, but quickly picking up speed. I shifted in the compartment’s bench, scratching Sirius like Amy was petting her owl. She had given me a lot to think about. It probably went both ways.

Why was her background so different? To the point where she actually got a scar out of it, from nowhere. Despite my parents’ change in professions, they were still the same people. There was no Emma in my life that I could identify, no obvious replacement that linked with my own history, but I was still just a girl with a normal life. Amy came from a different, far more colorful background, true. A super-villain’s daughter adopted into a family of super-heroes that unmasked themselves? You could write books based on that. Somebody probably already had. It could be that this was how it manifested in this world, powers being replaced by magic, parahumans by wizards. But then, what about the rest of New Wave? Again, I had more questions than answers.

The train’s aisles were emptying, people finding compartments for the trip. Only some stragglers still roamed. I figured this was a good time as any.

I cleared my throat, bringing her attention back to me. “Anyway, about all of this…” I gestured to outside the train and back to us, looking like kids. "What do you think?"

Amy let her head drop against the bench behind her and sighed explosively. "I don't know. Nothing makes sense…. How did we get here, and where is 'here' anyway?"

“I don’t know either.” Those were the same questions I kept plaguing me. "But that doesn’t mean we can’t figure it out. First, I think we should consolidate our information. Build a timeline of what happened, see if any patterns emerge, if any of us noticed anything the other didn’t.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“Right. What is the last thing you remember before waking up here? I know we were chasing the Siberian, but then it gets fuzzy. I think we were blown back because I remember flying.” Of a sort.

Amy blinked at me. “You don’t remember her turning around?”

“No.” I didn’t and that was worrying.

She licked her lips and I noticed her clenching her right hand tightly. “The last thing I remember is her turning around and jumping at us. Then it’s just… a big black ball.”

A black ball? But it was interesting. It seemed like the Siberian was responsible for this, though I couldn’t tell how. It also looked more and more like the three of us were here because we’d been touching, or at least close together, at the time it happened. Unless we were all missing memories. Still, if proximity counted, maybe Brian was here too. Should I start searching the train for him? Considering how we all were connected one way or another to this magical world, it was likely he’d be on the train too.

No. There was a chance he wasn’t, and there was no way for me to identify him as I had Amy, which had been by pure chance. I restrained myself. I could look for him later.

“We’ll think about that later. For now, let’s stick with the facts.” Brian might not be in this world at all. “I woke up the twenty-third of June. I’m living with... a version parents. Mostly they’re the same but some things changed.”

“Like living in the U.K., twenty years ago?”

And a few other things, but Amy didn’t need to know about that. “Basically. Then I got told I had magic by a Professor McGonagall and invited to Hogwarts. A couple of days later we went shopping for school supplies at Diagon Alley and I met Sirius.” I reached forward and scratched him behind his ears. “Apparently, he’d been found abandoned in the middle of the street. My powers returned after I got my wand and that was it. After that, nothing happened of note. I spent a whole month pretending I was eleven again.”

Amy frowned, playing with her fingers. “Yeah. That’s about the same thing as me. I woke up at my aunt’s, apparently, Hagrid told me I had magic and then nothing during the whole of August. I think I woke up the same day, but I wasn’t really keeping count.” She looked up at me. “Your powers came back when you bought your wand?”

“Yes.” I let a large spider fall from the ceiling and on to my hand. “Wasn’t it the same for you?”

“Yeah, but…” She quieted and thought for a while. “But I accessed them for a little while before getting my wand.”

“Really? How?”

She shook her head. “I think I did some accidental magic and for a couple of seconds they were back, but then they just faded out.”

I remembered trying out wands at Ollivander’s. “Maybe our powers are somehow connected to this magic?” I proposed. “And a wand is something like a key that unlocks them?”

“A conduit? Some-” Amy started, but I interrupted her by raising a finger to my lips, signaling for silence. “What?” She whispered.

“There’s a kid looking for a compartment right next to us. Let’s wait until he passes.”

She nodded and sat back. It was just a kid, but we didn’t want anybody to overhear us. Even supposing this place acted more or less like the real world, with magic and all of that, we should keep our powers and origin, as it was, secret. At best, we would be labelled crazy. At worst, who knew.

The kid, probably a first year too, actually came to our compartment. He opened the door and peeked in, revealing another fiery red-head full of freckles. “Sorry. Do you…” The words died in his mouth and his face paled rapidly, his hands shaking as he looked at us. No, at me. “Nevermind.” And he slammed the door and ran off, collapsing against the wall at the end of the carriage.

I looked down at my hand, observing the orb weaver on my palm. Yes, it was big for their usual size, I had been breeding them for it after all. But it wasn’t that scary.

Amy sniggered. “Your reputation precedes you.”

I groaned.


	19. Trouble Bound: Connecting Theory

"Anyway, moving on," I deadpanned. Amy was still smiling. "It looks like the Siberian was probably responsible for this, or at least partially. I think we can safely say that whatever she did knocked us out.” Previously forgotten, the sensation of flying, falling, came to my mind. “And then we woke up in younger bodies, our lives transplanted into 1991 England of a world like Aleph, except magic exists, hidden from the normal populace.”

“Yeah. That kind of sums up the major points.” Amy sighed. Her altered history was the one thing that really jumped out as being out of place. Otherwise, we had been seamlessly introduced into this world.

“The way I see it, there are basically two options. Either this is all real” I gestured to our surroundings, “and we’re in another world. Or it’s fake.”

“Fake? Like a dream? A mass hallucination?” Questioned Amy.

“An illusion.” I specified, returning to my initial theory. Despite everything, it still seemed like the most likely to me. It also implied that I was asleep somewhere, probably captured, at the complete and total mercy of whoever had done this to me. The Nine. Someone else. I couldn’t really trust my memories in this situation. Or everything that had happened up to now was my senses being tricked, and I was really sitting somewhere, thinking I was in a train bound for a magical boarding school.

“No. It feels too real,” said Amy. “If this was an illusion, shouldn’t there be some flaws? And why all of this… magic stuff? If this illusion is that realistic, why bother with all of this urban fantasy bullshit instead of just making us think we had never left our world? Plus, how do you explain us both being here?”

She brought up a few good points, but I had already thought about them myself. “Well, for one, I’m sure it’s possible for an illusion power to affect several people at once. And an illusion could trick our senses, or even our mind into believing this was real. As for the magic, it could be a requirement of the power, some of them get strange like that.” Genesis, for example, had a limited time to build the form she wanted and hers was a fairly good example of a power that came from the imagination. Labyrinth too, came to mind, and she didn’t seem to have a proper control over her powers when I saw her. “The other option implies that not only did we jump dimensions, but that our current lives were also carefully constructed to fit this world and our powers temporarily suppressed. All of that effort for apparently no reason at all. If somebody wanted us out of the way, why not just dump us here and be done with it?” I turned her argument against her.

“Well, it could be a power that moved or switched us with our dimensional alternates,” Amy pointed out. “Professor Haywire himself supposedly existed in several dimensions at once.”

That was something I hadn’t known. How much more did Amy know about parahumans and capes in general, as part of New Wave? “It would mean that magic is real, though.”

“It could be another form of parahuman powers. A prototype, or something like that. It’s not because Myrddin says he has magic that he actually has magic,” she countered.

We were getting nowhere and I told her so. The passage of a student in the aisle by our compartment provided a brief lull and allowed me to collect my thoughts. Facts were, if this was really an illusion, I had no certainty that Sirius and Amy weren’t fake either, constructs of a puppet master's mind. Or my own. Was this how it felt to be inside the matrix? “In the end, we’re arguing semantics. We don’t really have a way to know for sure.” Amy nodded. “Still, we’ve established the most likely options as to what happened. We’re missing the why… and the solution to all of this.”

“Does the why even matter? We’re stuck here.”

“It does. Let’s assume this is an illusion. If our capturers have even the slightest control over what happens in here, knowing their intentions is crucial.” And considering who our captors were most likely to be…

I saw the realization dawn on Amy’s face as she paled. “You think they’re waiting for our guard to lower so they can spring something?”

“Maybe. Maybe not and our paranoia will screw us over. Maybe it’s both.”

“Shit!” She cursed. “It’s like… like with the Simurgh.” Yes, it was, and we were in the same situation as the people stuck in the quarantines. Helpless. We contemplated this in silence for a minute. I could almost see the gears grinding inside Amy’s head, her eyes boring holes into her lap. “What do we do then?”

“We find a way out.” I said simply. “If this is an illusion, we’ll break it. If it’s another world, we’ll return to our own.”

“You’re pretty confident.”

“There’s no other choice.”

She averted her eyes. “Right.” A pause. “But that doesn’t tell me what the plan is.”

The plan. My plan left a sour taste in my mouth. I straightened my back, pulling myself to my full seated height. I was at least head taller than Amy. “Well, the easiest way to test these theories would be to act against this world. Little things don’t seem to do anything, but something more drastic might…”

“Except, what if it hurts you on the real world? What if it is real?” Amy completed my reasoning with a sigh. “Yeah, I thought so. We’re screwed.”

“For now, it’s best to just play along.” The risks were too great and the chances of success minuscule. This wasn’t a wild gamble, a maneuver I knew that if it worked, it would mean victory. We’ve be operating on blind faith, not even on half-way reasonable assumptions. The worse, in a way, was the illusion of choice. Whenever I had taken great risks before, bet on something without a safety net of any sort, I’d done it out of desperation. The second time I’d faced Lung, Mannequin more recently…. I’d had to do it, otherwise I would die, people would die. Here, there was no such urgent need. Not in a way I could feel. Every choice seemed much more charged, heavy. There was time to doubt. And I couldn’t tell if that was a bad thing, or a good one. “We’ll pretend to be who they expect us to be and we’ll look for a way out on the side. Try to pin-point any flaws in the world, research dimensional travel…”

Amy snorted. “Great. So I just have to go through school again. And puberty.”

Not if I had any say on the matter. “We’ll be back to Brockton Bay before that becomes an issue. Even if highschool is hell.”

“Puberty starts now. We’ll be having our first period, again, by the end of the year.” She pointed at me reproachfully and continued. “And middleschool is hell. Highschool is just pathetic.”

I blinked, surprised and a bit offended. My middleschool years had been marred by my mother’s death, true, but it was in later that the bullying had happened. Maybe Amy had had some bad experiences in middleschool, but I’d had the trio in highschool. “Right. In the meanwhile, we should stop talking about this. There are three kids coming our way and they seem to be looking for something. They’re stopping at every compartment.”

Amy formerly-Dallon, now-Potter touched her forehead reflexively and sighed deeply. “Wonderful.”


	20. Trouble Bound: Applying Experiences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is still in Beta Phase.  
> As such, it may be modified after the beta-readers have a look at it.

The compartment’s door opened to let in three boys of our apparent age. Unlike us, all three wore robes like most other wizards I’d met.

At the head of their little trio was a very pale, blonde boy. He was going to grow up like me, all thin and spindly, his chin pointy and face narrow, but he held himself with easy arrogance, leaving no doubt that he was the leader. The other two flanked him like bodyguards, half a step behind, and were both well-built for their age. In time, I could easily see them as linebackers. To complete the jock look, they didn’t strike me as the brightest lights in the harbour.

The setup was familiar. Were they looking for trouble?

The one in charge of their little band immediately took notice of Sirius and made a little sound, before his eyes darted to look between me and Amy, immediately jumping to the scar on Amy’s forehead. “So it’s true,” he said. “They were saying that Amy Potter was in this compartment. Let me introduce myself. My name is Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.” He stood straighter, drawing his right arm across his chest like the salutes some gangs did. No, he dipped his chin in a quick movement and I recognized it as the vainest, least deferential bow I’d ever seen.

Amy smiled wrily, her thoughts obviously along the same wavelength as mine. “Amy Potter.” There was a very well disguised hint of scorn in her tone. Like you didn’t know that already, it seemed to say. She shot a glance at me in a silent cue.

“Taylor Granger.” I spoke up, drawing the attention of the boys, who had seemingly already forgotten I existed. In fact, Draco seemed outright astonished, like I had somehow butted into a private conversation.

“Granger?” He drawled to himself. “I don’t recognize that name. Your parents, they’re of our sort, right? Or at least, one of them?” I couldn’t tell if he was being condescending or actually concerned. Not by his tone. I had his sort pegged down myself.

Honestly, I hadn’t expected to deal with prejudice this soon. Oh, I’d read between the lines of my history book. Not that there weren’t parts of history explicit enough on the anti-muggle sentiments and witch-hunts. Grindelwald and much more recently this Voldemort were just another example proving that bigots would always exist and gather together to perform atrocities, even in magical urban fantasies. Amy’s earlier words about Empire 88 knockoffs rang in my ears. This kid wasn’t quite the typical young gang recruit, with his quality silver-embroidered robes and aristocratic airs, but he fit right in my mental image of what Kaiser’s son would look like.

I looked him in the eyes and answered. “No. I’m a muggleborn.”

Draco scowled briefly, raising his chin to look down on me, disgust and smugness on his face. His two companions shared a look themselves, one of them even sniggering. Then the blonde addressed Amy again, purposefully talking like I wasn’t there. “She” The affected inflexion on the pronoun was clear as day. “wouldn’t happen to be your... friend, would she?”

“No.” Amy answered plainly. “Merely acquaintances.”

It was nothing less than the truth. I wasn’t surprised Amy didn’t consider me a friend. I wouldn’t call her my friend either. Still, hadn’t we just agreed to keep our heads down and stick together to find a way home?

Draco was clearly pleased. He glanced over his shoulder at me. “You should leave. I’d like to have a conversation with Amy Potter that’s not for your ears.” The two brutes behind him straightened their spines and crossed their arms, emphasizing the implied physical threat.

Even without my bugs, I could dispatch them with relative ease. Assuming they were normal kids, they didn’t have any martial arts training I could see and it was too cramped in here for them to make use of their bigger weight. And then, I had Sirius on my side, who already had his hackles raised, even if he wasn’t growling yet.

It was like a pair of children were trying to intimidate me. In fact, that was exactly what it was.

“Just because we’re not friends doesn’t mean we don’t have an understanding,” Amy interjected. “Malfoy, right? I don’t mind Taylor.”

Amy’s careless, nonchalant tone made Draco flush, almost luminescently on his pale skin. Still, he rallied himself. “Well, it’s a private matter!”

Amy made a noise and slightly furrowed her brow. “I’m not sure if I’m interested in what you’re saying, if it’s such a private matter.”

The boy shot me a glare as he recognized that Amy wouldn’t listen to him if he continued to try to get me to leave. Instead of giving up or pressing the point, he decided to ignore my presence completely. “I came to offer my help.”

“Oh, really?” Amy leaned forward, the interest in her tone subtly mocking. I chose to sit back for now and see how she handled it.

“Yes.” Draco nodded and launched into a rehearsed speech. “You’re Amy Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived. You’re famous. There are going to be all sorts of people coming to you, trying to get into your good graces and use you, like they do with my father. And some kind of wizards and witches you shouldn’t associate with.” Like me, it seemed. “But there are also good, upstanding wizarding families. It’d benefit you to know the right people, who can be trusted, and I can help you with that. I know people.”

“Wow, thanks!” Amy smiled too brightly. “So, let me see if I got this right. You’re saying I should be careful with a certain type of people?”

“That’s right.”

“Namely, people I don’t know who randomly approach me just because of who I am.”

“Yes.”

“Then try to get into my social circle.” Draco nodded hesitantly sensing, like I did, that the conversation was slipping from his grasp. “And try to mold my opinions and chose who should be my friend. Or offer me help that I don’t need…” Her smile dropped from her face. “For someone who came here to warn me, you’re checking pretty much all the boxes on the list of people who I shouldn’t associate with, Malfoy.” She dragged his name.

A rosy blush crept onto the blonde’s cheeks but still, he persisted. “I’m not like that… that rabble. Trust me Potter, I just-“

“Want to use me to get ahead of your little social group.” Amy finished for him.

“What? No!”

“Oh, so you want to ride my coattails to fame and glory then.” Draco sputtered denials, eyes wide in outrage, and Amy clucked her tongue derisively. “Well, I suppose I have an empty spot for a sycophant.”

Draco finally managed to recover some mental ground and stomped his foot down, startling Sirius. I wove a hand into his raised fur and continued to watch the byplay. I found myself smiling at the way she was turning the tables on the little racist. “Are you mocking me, Potter!?”

“Yep.” Popping the ‘p’, Amy leaned back in her seat. “I’m pretty sure bootlicking is considered part of ingratiating yourself with your betters, so you still make the list of people I shouldn’t associate with. And I don’t want an ass-kisser following me around.”

The blonde had gone completely red, knuckles white with the force he was clenching his fists at his side. His two followers, until now helplessly watching their leader being verbally beaten around, loomed behind him menacingly. He sneered viciously. “Looks like you want to follow your parents’ footsteps. They got on the bad side of the wrong people too, and they're dead.”

Amy very deliberately raised one eyebrow at him and smirked. “Sure.”

The dismissal was the final straw. With a roar, Draco pulled out his wand and pointed it at Amy. Crabbe and Goyle went for their own, seconds behind him. I was already getting up and drawing my own wand, releasing Sirius. Amy herself reacted lightning quick, grasping his wrist and shoving it to the side in what I recognized as the beginning of a self-defense technique against knives and guns. Not that she needed to finalize it. But Draco and his companions didn’t know that, and what stopped them in their tracks was Sirius. The big labrador was huge from a kid’s perspective, but he was the least dangerous thing they faced. His growling filled the compartment, masking the buzzing my insects were making, hidden around us. Amy had skin contact and so Draco was at her mercy.

Hand caught in Amy’s grip, the blonde quickly assessed the situation around him. I could see him visibly deflate at the sight of Sirius’ bared teeth and my wand pressing against the temple of one of his friends.

“What’s going on here?!”


	21. Trouble Bound: Train Arguments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is still in Beta Phase.  
> As such, it may be modified after the beta-readers have a look at it.

Another freckled red-head stood on the compartment’s threshold, livid. He had to be related to the last three gingers. The family resemblance was too strong. But this one used glasses and held himself with the pompous self-importance and puffed out chest of a teenager recently given some authority. The shiny badge on his wizard dress just made it obvious.

I knew what to do.

Quickly, but without forcing it, I let go of Malfoy’s wrist and glanced meaningfully at Skitter. Hoping she would follow my lead, I spoke up, meeting the older guy’s eyes. “Malfoy attacked us. He was harassing us.” Belatedly, I hoped he was not on this weasel’s side.

Ginger switched his attention to Blondie. “Is this true?” In the background, Skitter, Taylor, had lowered her wand, though she kept it ready, and calmed down her dog, a hand on the scruff of his neck. The silence actually sounded that much louder without the rumbling from the dog.

Malfoy still looked angry at me, but even he had enough brains not to continue the fight in front of an older student. “It was just… a misunderstanding.” Not very convincing, but I supposed not every blond could be Victoria, eleven or not.

“Oh, I understand what happened alright, Malfoy.” I couldn’t help a brief smile. Looked like Malfoy did know some people after all. “You’re lucky you aren’t at Hogwarts yet, but I will be having words with Professor Snape about this.” He turned on the two gorillas that followed Malfoy around. “I will be speaking with your heads of house too. Now get back to your own compartment.”

“Whatever, Weasly.” Malfoy spat, disdain dripping from every word, and shouldered past him and into the aisle. “Let’s go.” He barked at his bodyguards.

The tension slowly drained away as the trio got further away from us, and with it all the anger that had fueled me. I collapsed bonelessly on my seat, feeling like I’d run a marathon. Had that been worth it? Draco Malfoy was going to be a pain in the ass for the rest of the year, and that was without counting all the trouble his supposed connections could make.

I snorted. Yeah, totally worth it.

Taylor sat down herself, putting away her wand away in her jacket and petting the dog for a job well done. It was so strange to see her like this.

The teen that had helped us out cleared his throat. “Very well, glad to see that’s solved. Fighting is not tolerated at Hogwarts, so make sure this won’t happen again. If there’s trouble come to a Prefect or a Professor.” We both gave obligatory nods of agreement. So this guy was a prefect then. Actually, looking at his badge, it seemed kind of obvious. It made sense that they would appoint a straight-laced honours student type to the position. But Hogwarts was a british boarding school. In the nineties. I was pretty sure that things behind the scenes would be quite different. “Now,” he turned to Taylor, “I’d like to have a word with you.”

Wait, what had Skitter done while I wasn’t looking?

“Is something the matter?” The dark-haired girl looked perfectly composed as she spoke, calm and politely confused.

“Your animal.” He gave the dog a side-glance brimming with displeasure. "Hogwarts only allows owls, cats and toads. Dogs are not permitted."

Seriously!? What was he expecting her to do? Throw the dog offboard? Ship him back?

But she riposted quickly, speaking over whatever next nitpicking he had prepared. “I have permission from Professor McGonagall about Sirius. Arrangements were made. He'll be staying with the groundskeeper, not at the castle itself."

"Hmph." He huffed. "I will verify that. For now, just make sure he doesn't disturb anybody." The prefect closed the door behind him, leaving us in silence.

I watched Taylor and after a few seconds, time enough for him to get out of hearing range, she finally let her shoulders slump. Should I say anything? Ginger Weasel sure has a wand up his ass, something like that? I didn't usually mind the silence, but this one didn't exactly feel comfortable. Probably something to do with who I was sharing it.

She took the choice out of my hands, straightening up and staring me in the eyes. “What was that all about?”

Oh, she was not going to lecture me on this. Not her. And not now. “Told you. Middleschool is hell.” I shrugged.

“I thought the plan was to not make waves. Blend in and keep our heads down.” She insisted.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed or anything, but I’m the latest national hero. The Girl Who Fucking Lived, etcetera? Just… Urgh.” I didn’t even have enough steam to snark at Skitter. I sighed and reached up to massage my temples. “Look, low profile is just not in the options. Trust me, I tried but even if I don’t do anything people will come looking for me.”

She crossed her arms, but still had to get the last word in. “You still didn’t have to handle the situation like that.”

I could help but scoff. “Yes I did. What? You think he’d just leave? He’s a bully. He wouldn’t stop because I said: thank you but no, please leave me alone. He’d just get worse.”

“You were provoking him!” She hissed.

“As opposed to what? Ignoring him?” I felt my temper rise up again, twice already in quick succession. “Newsflash: that doesn’t work! I might as well be giving them carte blanche. The only way to make bullies back off is to fight back."

 

Taylor eyed me disbelievingly. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she clenched her jaw and stared out of the window. I copied her. It was a nice view. We stayed like that for a few minutes. Ignoring each other’s presence.

Finally she spoke, getting up from her seat. “I’m going to explore the train, see if there’s anything interesting. Sirius, guard.”

I nodded. Whatever. Good riddance.


	22. Trouble Bound: Disconnect

I already knew where everything was on the train. I had it bugged. I knew its layout, where the passengers were, what they were doing. I had no need to explore the train. But I needed to get out of that compartment and put some distance between us.

Panacea didn’t know anything. And I...

I was not trying to map both the train and its outside, closing my perception to the invertebrates there. I’d already figured out that there was some sort of spatial warping in this train. I was sure it was bigger on the inside, and that carriages had been added somewhen along the line. It wasn’t anything like what I’d felt Vista doing. I could feel and understand what Vista did with space, pieces of distance slotting together inside my head to form a coherent whole. Here, it was like things were in two places at once, or moving in relative directions that made no sense. I couldn't map it in my head. Just trying to do it made me dizzy, nauseous, like how I imagined feeling seasick would be like. And then the headache started. Actually, it felt remarkably similar to what Amy had done to me at the bank.

Amy... at the bank… The bank job had been what had really started my criminal career. The job that had delivered Dinah into Coil’s dirty hands. Despite all that, the only thing that I could think about that job now was that the next day, I had stood up to Emma and won. Effortlessly, just like how Amy had just beaten Draco. That made me angry. I knew my anger was baseless, but that did not make me any less mad. But having less bugs on-hand kept me, somehow, less busy mentally, and the strain of holding back the full range of my powers only compounded my irritation.

I hadn't put mental walls up like this since Winslow. Then, I'd close off the buzzing, afraid of what would happen if I slipped. I hadn't even tagged people to get an idea of where they were. I just pretended I didn't have powers, turning them off the best I could. I had to protect my identity, I had to hide. I had to make sure my control didn't clip when they surrounded me. When they bullied me. Now I was going back to school after months of absence and those habits, those attitudes, that position, they all came rushing back. It wasn't the same, I knew. I wasn't going back to Winslow, there was no trio waiting for me, I restricted my powers by true necessity.... But damn if it didn't feel like it.

I refrained from punching the wall, taking deep breaths to calm down. I'd let it get to me. Draco, Amy, what Amy had said.... I wasn't going back to Winslow. I had no idea where the train was headed, but it wasn't there. And Even if it was, I refused to go through that again.

That determination crystallized, sharpening my focus. I had to think about all of this rationally. Unbiasedly. I was going to Hogwarts, a boarding school that taught magic. Effectively, a school for parahumans of some sort. There would be bullies, inevitably. Every school had those, regardless of any discouragements. I supposed that the only difference between Winslow and Arcadia was that the better school had an administration that actually cared and acted. From what I'd seen, Hogwarts was more like Arcadia. That was good. There would still be racists like Draco though and, this time, I was a target. Could I handle that? I had much more going for me here than I'd ever had at Winslow. Aside from what I could do, I had Amy on my side on this issue. Her reputation and the prefects and teachers that cared about the rules would be more help than any I had received at Winslow. What kind of power would they need, Draco and any other enemies I find, that would allow them to attack me without repercussions?

I wasn't sure, but I knew who I could ask.

I had tagged Cedric before he actually got onto the train, when we'd both been on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. I quickly located his bug again and took off to a carriage further back on the train. His compartment was full, another four with him, three boys and a girl. They were playing board games. One looked like chess but the other I couldn't identify. Maybe it was a wizard game. It involved stones.

I hesitated at the door. I could barely hear them on the other side, talking, friends. I'd never been good at social interaction. The prospect of knocking and interrupting their conversation, becoming the center of attention, made me more nervous than any of the times I'd had to talk to large numbers of people while I was taking care of my territory. But then I'd been Skitter, not Taylor, and I had a mask, my swarm-voice and people respected that. Respected me, unlike here. Maybe I could borrow Cedric for a while, play the shy younger kid with a problem? It wouldn't be that off from the truth.

I must have stood too long outside the compartment because Cedric's voice called out to me. "Hello, is something wrong? Want to come in? It's crowded in here though."

"No. It's fine." I almost didn't remember to use my british accent after talking with Amy for so long. Why she wasn't even trying to disguise her obvious american accent I didn't know, but it was another thing I’d have to insist on with her. I opened the door a little, peeked in. "Hi."

"Taylor!" Cedric beamed. "Come on in. Everybody, this is Taylor," he hesitated, then added sheepishly "whose last name I actually don't remember anymore, sorry. We met at Diagon Alley. She's starting Hogwarts this year." An incomprehensible chorus of various greetings and questions followed his proclamation. Cedric winced and mouthed an apology to me.

I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile and cleared my throat. "Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Taylor Granger." I did put a little emphasis on my new last name.

"You already know me," started Cedric, "but this chap here is Roger Davies, Ravenclaw." A guy his age, brown hair topping a chubby face, waved at me. I noticed he had a pretty good arm definition with the t-shirt he was wearing. He sat on the other side of the chessboard, playing against Cedric himself. "That's Duncan Inglebee, also Ravenclaw, and Tamsin Applebee who's in Hufflepuff with me." He indicated the players of the other game, with stones. Tamsin was a short brunette with a thick accent but a friendly visage, while Duncan was a very tall, well-built dark-skinned boy that just gave me a quiet hello. "And brooding in the corner is Kenneth Towler. He's from Gryffindor." He pointed the last person in the compartment, who had been peacefully reading a book nestled against Tamsin.

"And the only person here that isn't a Quidditch fanatic." The Gryffindor commented offhandedly, setting his book down on his knees and adjusting his glasses.

The five were looking at me patiently. Waiting for me to say whatever I had to say and leave. Of course it was like that. To me, they were the younger ones, but I was just a kid to them. Younger, from a different culture and ignorant of the happenings and dynamics of Hogwarts. An outsider, in too many senses. I found myself unable to speak. If I opened my mouth...

“So, have you decided which house you want to be in yet?" Roger jumped in.

I was grateful for the starting point despite myself. "Not really. They all seem to have their good points. Maybe Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff?” Those seemed like the safe choices.

“I hope you’re a Hufflepuff,” said Tamsin, bouncing up and down in her seat, smiling. “You’re always welcome with us badgers, okay?”

“She looks more like a Ravenclaw, though.” Roger countered and turned to me. “You look smart.”

Kenneth snickered. “You only say that because she wears glasses, Davies. She could always be a Gryffindor, brave and stuff!”

“You mean the house that was last place last year?” Roger raised a finger, as if in warning. “Don’t be a Gryffindor.”

“Well,” I chanced to poke at the big secret, “that would be easier if I had a clue to how I’m going to be sorted.”

The group shared a conspiratory look, smiles. Tamsin giggled.

They probably weren’t laughing at me. I knew it wasn’t like that. It was just an inside joke, and everybody who hadn’t been sorted yet, however that happened, couldn’t get it. Or was the punchline. They didn’t mean to hurt me, I knew that, intellectually. But it still felt that way. They couldn’t have any idea of how much I hated this. Being laughed at. I was tired, done for with the feeling of humiliation that filled me now. I’d been the punchline far too many times already. This had been a mistake. I was an idiot sometimes.

“Right. Big secret.” That just sounded bad. I needed to get out. I wasn’t in the right state to handle this. I remembered Amy’s words again. “I…. I have to go back to my place.” And I turned on my heel and walked away.

I should have just keep quiet. Stuck to the plan and kept my head down. But I’d just gone and made it all worse, trying to chat up people subjectively older than me and make friends after letting a comment about bullies rile me up. It sounded so desperate and had all the hallmarks of bad planning. Cedric probably thought I was a weirdo. Well, he wouldn’t be that wrong. I couldn’t even keep up a normal conversation with kids younger than me for more than five minutes. It didn’t really matter anyway. I was aiming at leaving this place as soon as I could. I didn’t need to make friends. But if rumours started spreading, it would cause a chain reaction, and I had no intention of being the weird kid everybody knew about in a goddamn boarding school. Of course, I’d just given people the ammunition to do just that.

I felt Cedric get up, heard him call after me. Asking me to wait, apologizing. He didn’t sound angry. But I could still outrun him if I wanted to.

I didn’t need friends.

I wanted them though.

Fuck, I hoped this wouldn’t come back to bite me in the ass. I stopped walking away, and waited.


	23. Trouble Bound: Tentatively stepping forward

When he caught up to me, Cedric paused and waited for me to make the first move. I appreciated that. It gave me time. I took a deep breath, mentally running through the paths this conversation could take. Then another to center myself. Only after that did I turn to face him.

"Are you... alright?" He asked, concern marking his voice. But he kept enough distance that I didn’t feel stifled. A bit like my Dad.

I nodded.

"I'm sorry. The Sorting, it's nothing bad, really. It's just tradition to keep it secret from first years..." He fidgeted in place, looking incredibly awkward.

"It's okay," I interrupted him and gaining control over the conversation. “I know. I’m sorry too, I overreacted.” I needed a better excuse than that. “It’s just… I bumped into someone that really put me on edge, so when your friend Tamsin laughed…”

“We weren’t laughing at you!” He sounded horrified.

“Yeah, I get that.” I raised a hand to reassure him. “But after that encounter…”

“Must have been one hell of an encounter.” He smiled tentatively.

I took the opening. “Actually, that was what I came to talk to you about.”

“Tell me. If I can do anything to help...” Cedric offered immediately. It was nice.

“Thank you.” I let a small smile through, then composed myself. “It was a boy, first year like me, named Draco Malfoy. He implied he was well-connected. Do you know him?”

Cedric nodded. “I know of him, but I can't recall ever meeting him personally. The Malfoys are pretty well-known, they're an old family. Very conservative and, uh, rich. Very deep pockets. I think they might have a Wizengamot seat?”

It was the Supreme Mugwump debacle all over again. “Sorry, but what’s the Wizengamot?”

“Hum, actually I’m not sure how it translates to Muggle Politics. You’ll learn about it in History of Magic but it’s a body that dates back from before the Ministry was established. Basically their members vote on laws to be passed, and preside on important trials.”

That was good to know. I’d have to take a look at this place’s laws and governing structure. I barely knew how the United Kingdom's government worked in my own world, let alone in a magical version of it. “I see. Thanks. So I assume having a seat on that is a big deal?”

“Well, yes. The Malfoys are pretty important, my father talks about Mr. Malfoy quite a lot. I understand he's very close to Fudge, sorry, the Minister for Magic, and that he also has a lot of power in the Ministry.” I closed my eyes and managed not to groan. Just great. A repeat of Emma and her lawyer father. It must have still been pretty obvious because Cedric asked, hesitantly, “did Malfoy… do anything wrong?”

“Nothing really overt.” I huffed. “When he found out I was a muggleborn…”

Cedric grimaced. “Oh.” The little interjection explained everything.

“Yeah. He just insulted me, mostly. Looking down on me, ignoring me on purpose… but then he wanted me to leave my compartment and he picked a fight.” I continued before Cedric could express the worry on his face. “It was okay, there was a prefect nearby.”

The teen sighed. “Merlin, I’m so sorry about that. I swear...”

“Not your fault.” I cut him off. “I knew there was going to be some prejudice and, well, muggles aren’t exactly paragons of virtue on that front either.”

“Still….” He gesticulated helplessly, then gave up. “I promise you, the majority of wizards aren’t like Malfoy." After a brief moment, he added. "You should know though, Slytherins have a certain... reputation. And it’s people like Malfoy that give it to them.”

Ah, great. Just a quarter of the school. "So, avoid them?"

Cedric shifted, crossed his arms. "I don't like to make assumptions of people without meeting them first, or taking wizard for his wand, but... for the most part? Probably. I bet Malfoy's going to get sorted there too."

I remembered how he had immediately asked if Draco had done anything wrong. "Do the Malfoys also have a reputation?"

Cedric looked uncomfortable as he spoke. "Err... Well, there's a saying; you'll never find a Malfoy at a crime scene, but his fingerprints will be all over the guilty wand. And...." He lowered his voice. "Have you heard about the war yet? The one ten years ago?” He continued when I confirmed it. “Well, the Malfoys were one of the families that were on You-Know-Who’s side during the war. They said they'd been betwitched, but there're rumours that's not true."

Well, this was sounding more interesting. And dangerous. I replied in the same low tone. “Based on that bit of popular wisdom, I assume it couldn't be proved whether or not they really were being controlled."

“I don’t know. It happened when I was a really small kid. But I think that with those kind of dark spells and curses, there isn't really a way to know…. Whenever people speak about that time..." He paused thoughtfully. "It's about not knowing whether or not you could trust anybody. About the fear. That you'd be next, a target, and never know it. It sounds terrifying."

Masters, especially those that could control humans, were scary. For example, capes like Heartbreaker were more terrifying and infamous than capes like Nilbog were amongst the general population, because they messed with such a primal part of our psyche. I worked with Regent myself and even I couldn’t honestly say he didn’t scare me on some levels. The scariest and most infamous of all Masters was her, of course. The Simurgh. A Master-effect that couldn’t be proved... it sounded just like her. And for someone like Voldemort, from what I was gathering, it was common sense to use that power extensively in order to create terror. Any person you crossed on the street could be a ticking time-bomb. It explained better what the war must have been like, why people were still afraid of the name Voldemort. It was all about the uncertainty, about living in fear. I knew something about that.

After a couple of moments spent digesting that, I told Cedric normally, "Well, thanks about the information. It helps really."

"It was nothing. And I'm sorry that the topic of conversation couldn't be something lighter. Do you want to come back to our compartment? I’ll explain what happened and then we can play some chess. Wizarding chess even.”

“Wizarding chess, how’s that different from normal chess?” I asked, smiling.

“There’s absolutely no difference! But the pieces move by themselves, so it’s more convenient. And they can give advice too.” He leaned in to whisper, “I wouldn’t listen to it though, and they can whine too, if you lose.”

The image of a tiny pawn railing against a player that had gotten it captured again made me chuckle. “Thanks, but I think I should get back to my friend, now. Also, there’s him.” I indicated the boy who had been trying to approach us with my head.

The boy was a first year student like me, most likely. He was small, chubby, with large front teeth that showed sometimes. Probably because he was sniffing, on the verge of tears. He’d been wandering around in this carriage and the one next over, roaming through the corridors. Seeing we had noticed him, he shuffled over. "I'm sorry, but have you seen a toad around?"

I exchanged a look with Cedric, who shook his head. "Can't say we have."

The kid wilted noticeably, like a kicked puppy. “I can’t find him…. Maybe he jumped off the train,” he whimpered.

"Hey, don't worry. You’ll find him, he can’t have gone far,” reassured Cedric. “Do you want help looking?”

"You don’t have to…” The boy said, but it was a token protest.

I turned to Cedric. “Let me handle this. You shouldn’t keep your friends hanging, and I'll have to walk a ways to get back to my compartment anyway.”

His grey eyes looked between me and the sniffling kid for a moment before he relented. “Okay. I’ll see you later?”

“Sure. See you!” I waved him off and turned to the younger boy this time. “Let’s go then. My name’s Taylor H-Granger.”

"I'm Neville. Neville Longbottom." He replied, trotting after me.

*

I may not have bugs on the outside of the train, but I had them on the inside. Finding Trevor, Neville’s toad, was easy. I even fed him a couple of flies. Predictably, he’d been in a bathroom. A loo, as they called it here. The small blond thanked me profusely and went his own way, but I couldn’t help thinking Trevor wouldn’t take long to escape again.

I returned to my compartment, our compartment, feeling much calmer and in control of myself.

Sirius raised his head as I entered, barked and laid it down again. Amy was laying down on her seat, feet up and back against the window’s wall, a magazine on her hands. Seeing me enter, she raised a hand in a half-wave. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I returned.

A moment passed, me still standing at the door and her still looking at me. “Want a chocolate frog?” Amy finally broke the silence, pointing at a package on the seat near her feet. “It’s like a normal chocolate, shaped like a frog. And they also jump around, like frogs. They stop when you catch them, so it isn’t like… uh, biting an actual live frog.”

I blinked. “Err, no.” After my little adventure with Trevor, the prospect honestly made me a little squeamish. Eating bugs was one thing, but live frogs? “But thank you.”

“Pumpkin pastry?” She tried again.

“Do those move?”

“No. I think pumpkins are just a wizard thing.”

“Then yeah, thanks.” I grabbed one, patted Sirius on the way and sat down, taking a small bite. It wasn’t bad. I’d probably like it more if I was a fan of pumpkins, but the vegetable had never been something I especially liked. We’d opted out of Thanksgiving pumpkin pie for years. “Look, about before…”

Amy surprised me by interrupting me, sitting up straighter and letting her magazine fall on her lap. What she said surprised me even more. “It’s okay. I was being kind of obnoxious. I just…” She pushed her hair behind her ears again. “I just lost my temper with that brat. I shouldn't have, but he reminded me of somebody I knew that I really didn't like and… I don't know, ended up projecting on him.”

“I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have stormed off like that.” Amy shrugged dismissively and a tension eased in my chest. Maybe we could work together after all. “Things have been tense with all of… this, so I needed some time alone to think. Draco deserved it too.” I finished with a small smirk then changed the topic, maybe too bluntly. “So, what are you reading? Is that a comic book?”

If Amy noticed how I’d railroaded the conversation out of dangerous waters, she didn’t mention it. "Yeah." She showed me the cover, colorful in reds and blues.

I was unamused, and read the title out loud. "Spiderman. Really?”

Amy chuckled. "Ironic, isn’t it? I didn't know I'd end up meeting you when I bought it. Maybe I should have taken it as a sign.”

"What's it about? I think I’ve heard the name before, but I don’t know the story.” Not surprising, seeing how fictional super-hero stories had taken a dive with the parahuman boom. The industry had never really recovered. Plus, this was the nineties. It would have to be something really great to have survived to 2010.

Amy opened the book, flipping back to where she’d left off. "I think it’s been an ongoing series in Aleph, so it’s normal. Really, it’s a bunch of stories, most of the time not even connected, about a hero with spider powers. He’s not like you.” She expounded at my questioning look, pointing to the fly I had on her large trousers. “He’s part spider or something. Shoots webs from his hands, can climb walls, is super strong.”

I supposed it fit with what spiders could do, somewhat. "Brute Blaster?”

Amy’s expression twisted into what was definitely a smirk. "Thinker too. He's got a danger sense he calls, guess what?” I had no clue. What? “The spidey-sense.”

Okay, that was embarrassing to all insect-themed capes out there.


	24. Trouble Bound: Of heart

A hand shook my shoulder, an insistent "Amy, Amy wake up," disturbing my rest. I wasn't sleeping, I was just resting my eyes for a bit. It was different, damn it.  
  
"I'm aa..." I tried to stop it, but the yawn ripped itself  from me regardless. Traitor. "...wake. I'm awake."  
  
I blinked the cotton webs away. Taylor was standing in front of me, wearing the black robes of the Hogwarts uniform. The window's blind had been lowered and the books she'd taken out of her suitcase were nowhere to be seen. How long had I been out?  
  
"A prefect came by." She said, drawing back. "We're nearing Hogwarts. Put on your uniform and get your things ready. I'll step out for a moment, give you some privacy."  
  
It took me a moment to remember what she was talking about. "Ah, okay." Something inane came to my mind out of nowhere. "Did he tell you about the hat?"  
  
"The hat?" She looked confused for a moment, brows furrowing slightly more, but it cleared up quickly and her expression returned to normal. "Oh yeah, that. She mentioned it. Did you hear her?"  
  
"No. Hagrid told me." I grunted, getting to my feet. My legs felt half-asleep and my neck hurt. It was such a bad habit, falling asleep sitting up. I stretched my arms above my head. "Back in Diagon Alley. Just remembered it now."  
  
Taylor nodded and left, closing the door behind her. I sighed. I’d slept too much and now I was tired. And sore. I rubbed my neck and looked up. The light set in the ceiling had been turned on. I’d honestly thought it was ornamental, since wizards didn’t appear to even comprehend the concept of electricity but… ah. I briefly saw it flicker and sway, like a candle. Of course. Fire-powered. How silly of me.  
  
With a bit of struggle, I hauled down my suitcase. A trunk, Hagrid had called it, but it was more like a full blown chest, like those use to travel in the nineteenth century. Wizards seemed to be full of anachronisms like those. Then, I had to dig out my wizard robes. I was familiar with the style but, unlike my uniform, these weren’t as large and lacked a hood. It was nostalgic, putting them on. I hadn’t worn my uniform, Panacea’s uniform in… God knew how long. Leviathan, probably, nearly a couple of months ago. I hadn’t bothered with it afterwards. Too much to do, no need for a conspicuously pristine white robe that would only get dirty. Blood, various unpleasant bodily fluids, heck, all the water and mud everywhere.  
  
I threw the black cloak over my shoulders and quickly checked how I looked using the window as a budget mirror. I looked like a kid, the kid I was, but at least the robes fit me. I was wearing the over-sized, worn secondhand clothes the Dursleys provided me with underneath and I adjusted my collar so that the t-shirt wouldn’t be visible. If wizards wanted to go around naked under their robes, in bloody freezing Scotland, that was their problem. Me, I liked being warm.  
  
The only part of the uniform that I didn’t put on was the pointed hat. For ceremony use only, unless you were a first year student at the Start-of-Term Feast. In which case, no hat. The reason for that particular and awfully specific idiosyncrasy escaped me. Why no hats? Not that I was complaining, the hats were quirky, but honestly I’d prefer a hood. Hagrid had said it was tradition. I supposed that made as much sense as anything here.  
  
I knocked on the door. “Okay, I’m done.”  
  
Taylor entered and sat down. “They say we’re less than half an hour away from Hogsmeade Station.”  
  
I hummed. “Okay, so now what? We wait?”  
  
She shrugged. “What else is there to do?”  
  
My eyes drifted to the jar of multicolored beans I’d pushed into the corner hours ago. “Well….”

* * *

“I hate pumpkin!”  
  
“Sorry! Honestly thought that was orange.” Taylor shook her head absentmindedly and said something. I couldn’t hear her over the din of the crowd on the platform. “What!?”  
  
“I said! Doesn’t matter! We’ll be eating dinner soon anyway!” She repeated, loudly.  
  
Hundreds of students were pouring out of the train into the small station, dragging their luggage with them. They talked, laughed, cried, and yelled to be heard over the noise. And the first years like us? We were lost in a sea of hysterical teenagers. I’d never really appreciated how small I’d become until then. My height had always been below average, but with the Dursleys’ insistence on treating me like a bonsai, keeping me in small spaces and feeding me less than recommended, I was tiny. First years didn’t have to take their luggage with them, so we couldn’t protect ourselves with that and instead we were being pushed, pulled and squashed between people and suitcases.  
  
Somebody had bumped me, making me trip right into the corner of a hard square case. My ribs were painfully bruised. Night had already fallen and I couldn’t see anything but black robes all around, surrounding me. I couldn’t even see my own two feet. Maybe it was a good thing we didn’t have to remove our bags ourselves. The crowd would swallow us and trample us under their weight. Not to mention, how would I protect Victoria’s fragile cage?  
  
“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!” Hagrid’s voice boomed like thunder, making itself heard by everybody. At that, the crowd finally started to move with a specific direction. And the press of bodies was moving away from Hagrid, the older students going in the opposite direction and dragging us with them. Who had had the bright idea to make the station this small?  
  
A hand grabbed my arm and started pulling me along, back the right way. It was Skitter, tethering me, moving so that I was in front of her and no longer in danger of being dragged away by the human currents. I had to look up, over my shoulder, to see her face. She was about half a foot taller than me. Her eyes were pointing in front, but she wasn’t looking through them, certainly not seeing another black robed back. Her bugs?  
  
We made it out of that mess and it was like coming up for air. And it was, because between elbows and Taylor glued to my back, breathing had been hard. This was why I hated crowds. And concerts and night clubs. Without Victoria they were sweaty mess and with her...  
  
“Amy?” I snapped my head back. Taylor was a couple of steps ahead, looking expectantly at me.  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Just bruised.” I waved her off. “Usually, my sister does crowd control.”  
  
She nodded, a faint smile on her lips, and we joined Hagrid and the dozen kids huddled around him. The giant greeted me overenthusiastically, nearly making me collapse when he rested, read slapped, his heavy hand on my shoulder. And my arm and half my back. I introduced him to Taylor, who asked if he was the one who’d take care of her dog, and they had a short chat as the lost first years started gathering near us. When Hagrid finally managed to do a complete headcount, since kids kept crawling out of the woodwork, he raised his lamp and took us down a narrow, winding path. The trees blocked the little light that came from the moon. I started by tripping on the path’s stones and ended up slipping on them. The only reason I didn’t end up sprawled on the floor with skinned knees and hands was Taylor, who stayed by my elbow and not only managed to keep her balance in the dark, but also somehow knew when I was going for a faceplant and held me up.  
  
Around a bend, the steep path tapered off into a small quay, with numerous rowboats lined up in the water. The lake, black-watered at this hour, was big and surrounded by fields and forest. But it was nothing compared to the rest of the view. On our right rose cliffs, and on those cliffs there was a castle.  
  
A castle that felt magical, even from a distance.  
  
“Wow!” I gasped and wasn’t alone in that. Besides me, Taylor was actually smiling for once. It was dark, we were tired and a bunch of the kids had slipped and gotten their dresses wet, but the morale was at an all-night high. We were going to live there for a year. Awesome.  
  
After another headcount, as we were fifty-something kids and I doubted Hagrid was supposed to lose a single one of us, we split into groups of four, one for each boat. One of two guys in the boat with us seemed to know Taylor, nodding shyly at her, but the other didn’t utter a word. The rowboats didn’t have oars and just glided across the lake. The dark water was still enough, and like a mirror, it reflected the castle on the cliffs. I couldn’t help but compare this to the last time I’d been on a wooden boat. But now I wasn’t worried about falling, or better, being pushed off board. I was safe, headed into a big castle, lit by thousand of torches, with more towers than I could count blocking the stars. It didn’t look like a fairytale, princess castle. It was more down to earth, more real and solid, like a fortress. Far more solid than a little shack on a rock.  
  
Next to me, Taylor leaned over, whispering in my ear. “There’s a city underneath us, underwater. I think it’s inhabited. There are also a lot of crustaceans I don’t recognize. Probably magical animals.”  
  
“Hah. That’s... interesting.” It was but….  
  
Taylor nodded and sat straight again, leaving only our arms barely touching. I pushed away the disappointment I had no reason to feel. For a moment, her body pressed against mine, I had thought that it’d be nice to cuddle with her. Given the cold, wintry air and all that. Cuddling with Skitter. That was hilarious. And sad, but also hilarious. And ironic.  
  


* * *

  
“It’s bigger on the inside.” Taylor whispered to me.  
  
“It looks the same size to me.” I said, thinking about the absolutely massive entrance hall with the giant staircase rising deeper into the castle. What it must be like to have classes in this place….  
  
Taylor shook her head. “The entrance hall maybe, but this room and the rest of the castle definitely aren't. There are some weird things going on here.”  
  
I looked at her, searching her face and finding traces of strain around her eyes. “How do you even know this?”  
  
“My bugs.” She said simply and I nodded. She could feel through them after all.  
  
“So,” I began, seeing as the kids around us were panicking, “should we aim for the same house?”  
  
Taylor let out a breath, controlled. “Can we? Aim for a specific house, that is? All that we know is that this Sorting isn’t harmful and even that… could be wrong.” Because we couldn’t be certain of anything. Great, remind me of how fucked we may be again, don’t you? I clench my right hand, feeling my fingers twinge again. Taylor looked me in the eye. “We’ll manage, either way we will find a way to get through it.”  
  
I nodded and lowered my head. Those weren’t exactly the words I’d wanted to hear, but if nothing else, at least Skitter could inspire some confidence. She sure as hell didn’t look as scared as I was feeling. Another stupid feeling too, for a variety of reasons, number one of which was the very reason I was scared.  
  
A shriek cut through the chatter and we whirled around. My heart had jumped to my throat and… I exhaled, bewildered. Floating a foot off the ground, a pair of translucent figures stopped arguing between themselves and looked at the gaggle of eleven year olds that were staring at them.  
  
“Oh, the new students!” One of them clapped his hands happily. “Welcome, welcome to Hogwarts!” He fluttered down excitedly, trying and failing to mingle with the kids. The other remained at a respectable distance, also smiling, but looking vaguely exasperated.  
  
“Ghosts?” Proposed Taylor in a low voice.  
  
“I guess.” I said, keeping my eyes on them. Had one of the school books mentioned ghosts? I thought they had, but I hadn’t been expecting to actually meet any. I hadn’t paid much attention to what the books said. They had been interesting, nice to read but… I hadn’t really seen the point of it all. “They remind me of Crusader’s projections.” I extended a hand to touch one of the transparent beings as he passed by and it went right through his body. My body felt cold, like I’d just been doused with a bucket of ice, but there was nothing else. Whatever they were, they weren’t biologically alive. “Less solid.”  
  
This was kind of creepy, I thought as I saw the other prospective students start to talk back to the ghosts, asking questions about the school, the Sorting. These were dead people. Had they gone to the other side and decided this was better? Was something tethering them here? Some unfinished business, some deep regret? And wasn’t it really odd, seeing as this could still be some sort of purgatory or hell or whatever, a possibility I hadn’t completely dismissed yet, that there were sort of dead people here? Like one of those Russians dolls, stacked up inside. Layers upon layers.  
  
McGonagall, the old-style teacher that had greeted us at the castle’s door, had said it would only be a few minutes and she delivered on that promise, appearing through the door that separated us from the entrance hall. She shooed away the ghosts and, after instructing us to form two lines, took us back to the entrance hall and through the great doors to the Great Hall.  
  
It deserved the capitalization. It was as cavernous and majestic as the name would suggest. There were four tables running the length of the hall, one for each house, each marked by their giant tabard on the front wall. They were wide, longer than any other table I‘d seen, seating at the very least a hundred people, each with their own set of golden plates. One last table was set perpendicularly to those four, up on a raised platform at the end of the hall, and there sat an eclectic mix of adults. Teachers, I supposed. Behind them, there was a giant window, and in the smooth stone walls of the hall, other windows were set at regular intervals. Candles floated around and, between the windows, winged gargoyles holding torches in their hands, providing the illumination. And above... there was no ceiling. The walls rose and rose, opening to the nearly cloudless, star-speckled sky outside.  
  
Which made no sense because I’d seen the castle from outside and this part of the building definitely had a roof. A high, very much there roof, with a little tower and everything.  
  
“It's an illusion.” Taylor must have noticed me gaping like a fish out of water. "There's a ceiling, it just looks like it isn't there.” Did she have bugs everywhere?  
  
"A bloody invisible ceiling." Wizards took skylight to a whole new level, but you couldn't argue with the results. It looked, once again, magical.  
  
We followed McGonagall down the center of the hall between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables, being stared at by hundreds of eyes, living and not, all around us. We lined up in front of the staff’s table, our backs facing the faculty plus Hagrid. I resisted the urge to tuck my errant curls behind my ear. If I did, everybody would see the scar. They were all peering up at us, waiting. I could see it in their faces: curiosity, excitement, boredom, schadenfreude…. It felt just like being at the podium for a press conference. And I hated press conferences.  
  
Then McGonagall went and placed a stool in front of us, and a ratty witch hat on the stool. All the students sitting on the tables quieted down and anticipation filled the atmosphere.  
  
The world had stopped making sense again. Was this a pageant to determine who was worthy of looking fabulous with a pointy hat on? Would we have to show our sense of style to the whole school? Just, what?  
  
There was a fluttering sound, loud in the silence, then another. The hat wiggled in place and with a loud rip, a seam opened. Then it hunched into itself, actually hunched, and twisted. In between the folds, the shadows and that rip, I recognized the shape of a face. It looked at us, over its… brim. Was that the hat equivalent of looking over one’s shoulder? The world really wasn’t making much sense at all. Then it cleared its throat. Except hats don’t have throats to clear. Or lungs to breathe or anything. They were made of fabric and... I was overthinking this, wasn’t I? It was magic. It didn’t need to make sense. Powers didn’t make much sense either and I’d lived with powers my whole life, hadn’t I? The hat started to sing a cheerful song. It sounded male, so maybe it was a he instead of an it?  
  
I was too nervous, my guts felt like they were tied into a knot. I surreptitiously took a deep breath, focusing on the hat’s catchy tune. I glanced at Taylor by my side. It was difficult to be sure, with the uniform and all, but she looked tense to me too. The thought that I wasn’t alone in my nerves actually relaxed me, never mind the company. A month ago, I would have punched somebody if they had dared suggest that Skitter’s presence would be even remotely relaxing.  
  
After the students had finished clapping for the Hat, Professor McGonagall took a step forward and addressed us. Somewhere along the line she’d picked up a scroll. "When I call your name, you will put on the Sorting Hat and sit on the stool. Understood? Very well."  
  
It was really just putting on a hat, I thought as the first student, a girl, was sorted into Hufflepuff.  It was ridiculous but certainly fit with everything that had happened so far. A tug on my hand broke me away from my thoughts. Taylor. She leaned slightly towards me and I copied her. “What is it?” I whispered.  
  
“Be prepared.” She warned, lowly. “This could get ugly, fast.”  
  
Many things had changed between Skitter and I, but apparently her ability to ties my insides into increasingly complicated and painful knots wasn’t one of them. “What the hell do you mean by that!?” I stopped and shot a look around us, but it didn’t seem I’d spoken too loud.  
  
“That hat,” hissed Taylor. “It can see our minds. And we’re different. We’re not eleven, for one. And that’s not counting everything else that it could find out rummaging in our heads.”  
  
Shit. I glanced at the Hat. It seemed to mutter to himself a lot, and hum loudly, but the only words that came out of his mouth, seam-rip-whatever, loudly enough to be heard were the names of the Houses. Maybe she was being too paranoid about this. I hoped. “But if this is an illusion, do you really think that will happen?” I whispered rapidly to her.  
  
“Good time to break the charade. It’d be chaotic.” Ah, fuck. The boy by my other side startled. Fuck, I’d said that out loud, hadn’t I? Taylor grabbed my hand more firmly this time and I snapped my gaze forwards, just in time to see one of Malfoy’s body guards being called up. Goyle. We were already at the G? “Anyway, I’m getting my swarms into position just in case.”  
  
I stopped myself from looking up. That was probably where she had her creepy crawlies gathering. “What should I do?”  
  
“Just be prepared.”  
  
And the professor called out: “Granger, Taylor!”  
  
With one last squeeze of my fingers and without a trace of hesitation, she walked to the stool and put the Hat on. I waited. And waited.

* * *

_Hmmm…. Well, this is different. And difficult, very difficult._   
  
_I’m going to Sort you, of course. I’m a Sorting Hat, that’s what I do._   
  
_Well, you need to be a Thinking Hat to be a Sorting Hat. I’m also a Singing Hat. I’m glad you noticed, not many do. But let me-_   
  
_No, why would I? I’m the Sorting Hat, and it’s nobody’s business but mine where I Sort students and why. Any more questions? I am not an Answering Hat._   
  
_So what do we have here… A sharp mind, quick and hardy. Very, very willful. Bravery, plenty of it, and daring… Oh I see, determination! You have something to do. Very important to you. Perhaps Slytherin would suit you..._   
  
_No? I see, and no patience at all. Hufflepuff would do you good, perhaps…_   
  
_Hmm…._   
  
_That may not the House for you. There is Ravenclaw, or Gryffindor, either would aid you in your quest._   
  
_Hm- hmmm… Difficult, difficult. You could fit in Slytherin… if you wanted, he would approve of you._   
  
_I still say Hufflepuff would take you in. But, well._   
  
_No, no, it just isn’t there. Hm...._   
  
_Gryffindor has a place for you, and Ravenclaw too. She would welcome a girl as bright as you…._   
  
_Too distant for Hufflepuff…. Too sharp for Ravenclaw... and not Slytherin. Yes, yes, that is it! I think that would be for the best that you be-_


	25. Trouble Bound: And desires

“GRYFFINDOR!!”  
  
I ripped the hat off my head and passed it to McGonagall. She gave me a wide smile in return, reminding me that she was Gryffindor's head of house. My new head of house. I smiled back at her and hurried to the last table on the left amidst raucous applause. Kenneth Towler, from Cedric’s compartment, got to his feet and whistled enthusiastically for me. I smiled, waved at him briefly, and accepted the seat he opened up for me. Coincidentally, it was also far away from the red-haired prefect from the train and the twins that had accosted us.  
  
As I sat, I checked on Amy. She still looked scared, so I gave her a quick thumbs up. She didn’t relax completely, but she didn’t look ready to bolt anymore. Good.  
  
Kenneth raised his empty glass in my direction. “Welcome to Gryffindor, house of the brave.”  
  
“And stuff.”  
  
“And stuff, stuffing, etc... It’s been awhile since we last won the cup but who knows? Maybe this’ll be the year. It’s also been awhile since there’s been a hatstall. You had us all worried there.”  
  
“A hatstall?  
  
“When the hat takes a long time choosing, just like that. You were definitely up there for more than five minutes.”  
  
“Oh.” I paused to applaud politely as Wayne Hopkins was sorted into Hufflepuff. I spotted Cedric clapping on the table furthest from me. “It was considering all four of the houses, to be honest.”  
  
“Wow, that’s unusual. The hat actually considered Ravenclaw for me, but just for a moment.” He said, and I shrugged as the sorting continued.  
  
I finished tagging everybody in the hall, taking more care to be discreet now that the threat of a mind-reading hat blowing my cover was no longer looming over me. Of course, it could still screw us, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t. And Amy still had to put it on too. I spelt ‘looks okay’ with some ants on her palm, letter by letter, as her turn crept up. Neville Longbottom, the boy from the train, was surprisingly sorted into Gryffindor after hatstalling like me. But confirming Cedric’s predictions, Draco Malfoy became a Slytherin. The hat wasn’t on his head more than a second or two. It wasn't much longer before a set of twins, that were curiously Sorted into different houses, finished their turns and McGonagall announced: “Potter, Amy!”  
  
Like a switch had been thrown, whispering filled the hall. People craned their necks to better see Amy or, I suspected, her scar. Besides me, Kenneth nudged me, asking me if I knew her. I kept my eyes trained on Amy. She still looked afraid but now she was also resolute. I remembered seeing that expression on her face before. I had seen it briefly at the bank and, not so long ago, when she’d taken my hand and climbed onto Sirius behind me. I clenched my fists on my thighs when she shoved the hat on her head and the tension in the room skyrocketed.  
  
But it was over in an instant.  
  
“GRYFFINDOR!!” bellowed the hat.  
  
The table around me erupted into a ruckus, cheering, clapping and yelling. I joined them, relieved at the outcome. Not only had nothing suspicious happened, we had also ended up in the same house. Even people at the other tables applauded enthusiastically,  except those seated at Slytherin, where there was only the occasional polite clapping. I’d already picked up on the rivalry between the snake house and the lion house but this seemed like something more. I couldn’t read the mood from the whole table but before they’d been excited. Hopeful? Now the mood veered far more towards anger and disappointment.  
  
My musings were interrupted by Amy, who slumped down on the seat next to me. "Congratulations." I offered, but it was lost among all the cheer that the table was directing at her. In the middle of the older teens, our eleven year old selves looked small and easily overrun. Still, it calmed down rather quickly, since McGonagall was glaring daggers at the whole table.  
  
Amy stiffened as somebody gave her a last slap on the back and turned to me, softly so that only I could hear. "Thanks. I guess. I'm starting to regret it, honestly." I tilted my head and she whispered to me. "I feel like we got sorted into the place with the highest concentration of jocks."  
  
I gave Gryffindor's table a once over. “And class clowns.”  
  
She snorted. “True. But hey, at least we’re in this together.”  
  
The sorting didn’t last much longer, there were only a few students left. The red-haired boy that had run away in the train, a Ronald Weasley, was also sorted into Gryffindor, joining his brothers. The Weasley family had six sons, Kenneth explained to us, all Gryffindors. For the old magical families, apparently the house you were sorted into was in the blood, or so superstition said. We were both, however, more of the opinion that children were just raised in a way that made them want to be in a certain house, taught to value certain traits over others.  
  
The sorting complete, McGonagall took away the hat and the stool. The headmaster stood and the hall quieted. Albus Dumbledore was more of a wizard than any magic user I’d seen to date. He looked like Gandalf with his long silver hair and beard, and he commanded the hall’s entire attention with his sheer presence. I could tell he was powerful, but his smile of pride, of grandfatherly affection even, reminded me of Santa Claus. He just had a trustworthy air about him.  
  
“Welcome.” Dumbledore looked down on the students gathered and opened his arms wide. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you and tuck in!”  
  
I had been so focused on him that I almost missed the actual banquet appearing out of nowhere. Suddenly, the table that had only possessed golden cutlery also boasted an enormous quantity of food and drink served in equally golden platters and bowls.  
  
“Did he just… conjure all of this from thin air?” Wondered Amy as she looked suspiciously but greedily at a delicious looking roast beef.  
  
“No way.” Kenneth answered her, leaning forward to grab a plate of sausages. “You can’t eat conjured food. Gamp’s Law, you’ll learn it in Transfiguration. Speaking of which, I also wouldn’t recommend transfigured food, unless you really trust the transfigurer’s skills. The food is actually prepared down in the kitchens and the actual magic is transporting it up here.”  
  
“Is that what he did?” I asked.  
  
“I… don’t think so?” Kenneth paused. “No, can’t be. Dumbledore isn’t even present at every lunch and dinner. The plates must be charmed to appear and disappear according to some signal.”  
  
Around the table, the conversation circulated. Tales about what people had done during summer, plans and complaints for and about the new school year, a few academic topics and, with the new first years, introductions. One horror story circulated about Neville who, we learned to our horror, had been thrown out of a window by his uncle to find out whether Neville had magic when he was just a little boy. I noticed with interest that our new classmates were of varied origins, and that the girls seemed of an amenable sort. It didn’t look like I was going to have problems within Gryffindor, at least. On the contrary, I was warned about going into the dungeons alone or trusting the Slytherins with anything important, because finding ‘a decent snake’ was akin to finding a needle in a haystack.  
  
The House ghost, Sir Nicholas Mimsy the Nearly Headless, came by to welcome us to Gryffindor, drawing more attention to Amy again. Shortly after he’d left, I detected Amy trying hiding a wince. I had a spider move from under her robes to the skin of her ankle. She started violently and snapped her head towards me. I sent her a questioning look. Amy shook her head. “Nothing,” she said, rubbing her forehead, “It’s just been a long day.”  
  
I decided to leave it at that, for now. That hadn’t been just a normal headache.  
  
Dinner was filling, but very heavy. Far heavier than what I was used to eating. It wasn’t that the foods were greasy or such, but there was an overabundance of meats and other products that had to be more traditionally British or even Scottish. There was barely any fish, though I was assured that wasn’t always the case, and the salads left something to be desired. The main drink was also pumpkin juice, though they did have water and other juices, of which I settled for grape juice. Nonetheless, the food was great, very well cooked and seemingly unending. Despite my renewed metabolism, I was full after one good serving. In the meanwhile, Amy had demolished two and half plates full of food with an ease that her thin frame didn’t convey. And this was after having spent the whole afternoon sleeping and snacking on a multitude of sweets and pastries. I had my theories about that too.  
  
The platters with main courses had slowly been replaced by deserts and as the dinner wound down, around nine and a half in the evening, Dumbledore once again rose and clapped his hands. The leftover food disappeared much in the same way it had appeared and the hall fell silent.  
  
“Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years, note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils.” His eyes twinkled with mirth and he turned just very slightly to the Gryffindor table. “And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.” Then his countenance turned serious, his voice a whisper that carried into every ear, magic or not, I couldn’t tell. “And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."  
  
There were a few scattered laughs, but they were the exceptions. The teachers who hadn’t lost their smiles were faking them now, and the older students looked uncomfortable and some even scared. A few murmurs broke the now stifling silence. Across from us, an elder girl commented on how odd and weird this was, even for the old wizard. Amy meet my eyes, pale and I nodded, my own mind whirring.  
  
Dumbledore than called for the school song, but I tuned it out, only mechanically following along.  
  
An idea had taken a hold of my mind. Assuming we were indeed in an illusion of some sort, controlled or designed by an intelligence of some sort… the headmaster’s warning was a blatant red flag. An unusual event, some unscripted change to the world as it was presented? No, not unscripted. Before, I was thinking of the script, of the template that Hogwarts was built around, as based on a normal school. I assumed that our enemies would introduce or change elements to confuse and harm us. This event could just be the start of it.  
  
But, what if it was part of the script all along? What if the underlying foundation of the illusion wasn’t static, but flowing? Like a book, an adventure in a fantastic boarding school… or a game?  
  
Powers were quirky, so there was no reason it couldn’t be a possibility. It was Über and Leet’s style… but with psychological twists right up Jack’s alley. Just a glimmer of hope that we could free ourselves.  
  
We just had to beat this ‘game’, first.  
  


* * *

  
  
_Oh, another difficult one…. Mmmm…._   
  
_Well, you sound rather sure, are you sure that’s what you want? Perhaps another house would fit you better.  In Hufflepuff, you could make life-long friends; in Slytherin, you could be...._   
  
_I see, I see. Well, if you insist so much, then I suppose that the best house for you could just be-_


	26. A Promising start: First of September sent, Fifth of September draft

Dear Mom and Dad,

  
We got safely to Hogwarts. It’s a really beautiful, huge castle. I think I’m going to like it here. I met with Cedric again, and I also made a new friend! Her name is Amy. We both got sorted into Gryffindor so we’re in the same dormitory. I thought I was going to be a Ravenclaw for sure but no. I’m out of time so I’ll tell you more later. I miss you already.

  
Love, Taylor

* * *

 

Dear Mom and Dad,

  
~~Everything is fine. doing going well~~

  
Everything has been going okay here. Hogwarts is a ~~magical place~~ great place. It’s a huge castle, like Professor McGonagall ~~told~~ showed us, but ~~the inside is even more amazing.~~ It’s even more amazing in person. The inside is actually bigger than the outside and there are moving staircases, walking suits of armor and living paintings.

**friends

Classes are being really interesting.

  
Four times a week, we have Transfiguration, given by ~~Mc~~ Professor McGonagall, Charms, given by Professor Flitwick, and Defense against the Dark Arts, given by Professor Quirrel. Professor Flitwick is half-goblin, so he’s really short, shorter than me, and Professor Quirrel wears a turban and a garlic necklace all the time. In Transfiguration we’ve been going over the theory of magic and safety rules, but ~~today~~ Thursday we started working on turning matches into needles. In Charms we’ve been working on Lumos, a spell that makes light. ~~on~~

  
We have Herbology with Professor Sprout, ~~study~~ which is essentially magical botany, three times a week in the greenhouses. It’s like a gardening class but it’s very useful and important for Potions. Potions are given by Professor Snape, every Friday the whole morning, and *

Then we have Astronomy Wednesday nights at midnight, and History of Magic on Mondays. History is a haunted discipline. Professor Binns died when he was a teacher and his ghost keeps on giving the lessons like a broken tape recorder. There are supplemental classes from the third year on for those who are interested in taking the History OWL.

  
**I’ve mentioned I met Cedric again on the train to Hogwarts. He introduced me to his friends, of which Kenneth Towler is a Gryffindor. He’s been ~~a great help~~ really nice, helping me get settled in alright. I also met Amy on the train. ~~Her full name is Amy DPotter and she’s~~ She’s a first year like me. ~~We ended~~ She has magical parents but was raised by non-magical parents like me. The other girls on our dorm room were all raised around magic so we have a lot of common ground. Her full name is Amy Potter and she’s known ~~in~~ as the Girl Who Lived because she survived a curse when she was a baby. It’s actually on my History book. Because of that she’s ~~pret~~ rather famous and people keep pointing at her. She gets really annoyed about that and would rather spend some time alone with me.

  
I love it here, but I still miss you a lot. Sirius misses you too. I visit him every day. Hagrid, the groundskeeper, has been taking care of him, letting him run around and help him patrol the Forbidden forest. He’s going to lose all the fat he gained during summer really soon!

  
Love, Taylor.


	27. A Promising start: Recapping

I twirled my pencil in my fingers as I re-read my draft. It seemed good, or at least I couldn’t make out any obvious mistakes. Did it sound like something an eleven year old would write? I thought so. I’d dumbed it down, kept to simple language. It was one thing to write as usual on my homework, the teachers didn’t know me before, but writing to my parents was a different beast. I hoped they wouldn't notice any differences, but it was always a possibility. Tomorrow I would add something about Potions, the one subject we hadn’t had yet. I still thought I was writing too much about school and not enough about myself for a letter to my parents, but it was good enough for now.

I closed my notepad. It was one I had brought with me, and the same went for the pencil I was using. Hogwarts, as seemingly backwards as the rest of the wizard world, subsisted on parchment, quills, and ink, plus the occasional charcoal stick. The sheer quantities of parchment that was used to make books and sheets for students meant they had to be supplementing their production with magic. I couldn’t imagine how many animals would have to be killed just to keep up with the newspaper production alone. Using a quill was also hard to adjust to. My calligraphy had suffered, and I’d gotten used to smudges and ink splatters decorating my notes and hands. I’d actually formed a small blister from note-taking. According to Kenneth, it was just a matter of time before it became natural, but I intended to get out of here before that time ever came.

Besides those minor but annoying things, writing on parchment wasn’t bad. It had a certain old, solid feel to it that I enjoyed, very different from the frivolity and flimsiness of regular paper. When I took the time to write carefully, the result was stunning. Book lover as my mother was, she’d certainly like it too. Which reminded me, I needed an owl. I could use the school’s, of course, but still.

“Amy? Would you lend me your owl to send a letter to my parents?” I asked, turning in my chair.

Amy didn’t answer, seeing as she was sleeping, dead to the world. She’d curled up in her own armchair to read and then dozed off while I was writing my letter. The Herbology textbook was precariously perched on her knees and her head slumped at an angle against her shoulder and the armrest. The position looked uncomfortable, but I couldn’t blame her. Between the cozy armchairs and the crackling fireplace, my eyes felt heavy too.

If I'd felt like this purely because of the Common Room's coziness, I wouldn’t mind it. As it was, I just felt incredibly frustrated.

I hadn’t been able to sleep properly since I first set foot in this fucking castle. Whenever I started to fall asleep, the tight control I kept on my bugs started to crumble, like a puppy eager to slip its leash. And with the way space was distorted, I started to feel nauseous, a headache growing rapidly and waking me from my half-asleep state. The first night had been awful. I’d eventually become so tired that my brain had just shut down, headache or not. Nightmares straight out of a bad trip prevented me from actually resting like I needed to, but it was better than no sleep at all. The nausea I woke up with was another thing I could have gone without. I wasn’t sleeping less than I had after Leviathan, but apparently eleven year old bodies needed their daily eight hours of sleep to function properly. I had bags underneath my eyes and I honestly couldn’t remember half the classes I’d had. Fortunately, they’d just been going over theory so far, but I couldn't go on like this. I hadn’t been able to explore the castle like I wanted, hadn't restarted my morning runs, and hadn't even had a serious talk with Amy about what I thought I’d figured out.

Amy herself wasn’t much better. She took hours to fall asleep, rolling around in her bed, and during the day she’d take constant naps. She’d slept straight through History, and her eyelids had been drooping during Defense despite the smell and noise. According to Amy herself, this happened every year. She had insomnia, but given time she’d fall into a routine that would allow her to function properly, napping only at the right times. I thought there was more to it than that. She hadn’t looked well when I’d met her on the train. She hadn’t been looking well before all of this, but we were away from Brockton Bay, had been for a month and a half now. I didn’t think it was the fame, or rather, infamy. The whispers and stares that followed her, and by extension me, didn’t bother her at all. “Reminds me of when I first got my powers.” She’d said. “Everybody was like this. School was really awkward, and Vicky didn’t help at all. But eventually they just got used to it. It’ll be the same.” I hoped she was right. The attention was unwelcome and distracting. It was hard to get a moment to ourselves and discuss our situation, much less keep a low bloody profile.

It also meant I had no idea of what was up with her. How had the Nine pressed her psychologically? Would she manage to get through it? Could I deal with the possible fallout?

I reached out to shake her. She was a heavy sleeper, despite everything, and only started into awareness when I got a bit more forceful. She took in her surroundings, blinking slowly, and yawned. “Something happen?”

“No, but we might want to head up sooner than later.”

She groaned, massaging her neck. “I was sleeping so well too. Now it’s going to be a pain falling asleep again.”

I shrugged. “Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry at all. Ow.”

A smile found its way to my face involuntarily. She had a point there. “Anyway, I was wondering if you could let me borrow your owl tomorrow. I have a letter to send to my parents.”

“Victoria? Yeah, sure. It’s not like I have anything for her to send.” Another thing that had caught my attention. Amy got up and stretched her arms above her head. She glanced at the Herbology book still on the armchair. “Ugh. I am not looking forward to tomorrow.”

I was disliking the sound of this Professor more and more by the day.

She shook her head. “It’s a three hour class, in the morning. I don’t know how I’m going to manage to stay awake through it all.”

“Well... we get the afternoon free, and after that we’ve got the weekend."

“Small mercies.”


	28. A Promising start: Snape

Even before I set a foot in the Potions classroom, I disliked it. It wasn’t the fact that the laboratories were in the castle’s dungeons. Sure, it was dark, cold and humid, but that just reminded me of Brockton Bay. However, the Bay had been teeming with insect life of all kinds. Mosquitoes ran rampant, rats and their fleas coexisted with cockroaches and earwigs, worms multiplied exponentially. Unlike the rest of the castle, which already had fewer bugs than I’d expect from a medieval building, the Potions’ classroom was aseptic.

Naturally, a laboratory should be free of bugs and other critters for the same reasons I had kept insects away from our kitchen’s countertop and food. Professor Snape went well above what was required, however, removing any and all pests from his working area. This was reinforced by the fact that no bugs were even capable of making it inside of his domain. The couple of ants I’d tried to sneak in under the door had died after crossing the threshold and the fliers had begun losing strength until they were forced to land, then promptly died. The results were the same no matter what cracks and crevices I tried to enter through. Fortunately, whatever magic was killing my bugs didn’t seem to extend to those I had on my person. That was, however, this class’ only, remote, saving grace.

Snape, always in all-black and with some form of contempt in his face, lived up to his reputation. He’d initially reminded me of an old math teacher I’d had in grade school, so strict and unpleasant every kid but the most unruly ones behaved prim and proper in is class. We’d quiet down just from being in his presence, afraid of drawing his attention, and ire. McGonagall had a similar effect, but unlike Snape hers was created by respect instead of fear. Right on schedule, he’d opened the door to admit us into the classroom, looming over our eleven year old bodies before turning on his heel to return to his desk. Once everybody had hurried in, the door banged shut at a small gesture from Snape. Everybody had started, even the Slytherins. Snape had glared until everybody was seated and quiet, then taken the roll call.

Upon reaching Amy’s name, like most of our other teachers, he’d paused, enunciating carefully. “Amy Potter.” Amy, sitting next to me, had straightened up. Then Snape had sneered. “Our new… celebrity.” And from there it had gone downhill.

If it was clear that he didn’t like Gryffindors from his introductory speech, obliquely giving us a disdainful look at mention of ‘foolish wand-waving’ and ‘inept dunderheads’, then it was obvious that he had it out for Amy in particular.

“Potter! If I had needed a bezoar for today’s potion, where would you procure me one?” Asked Snape.

Amy hesitated, all the dolefulness from another bad night temporarily banished. “I’m not sure.”

“I’m not sure. Sir.” He corrected. “Have you no manners?”

The Slytherins sniggered. She flushed. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Would you know which potion I’d intend the bezoar for, Potter? At the very least, the type of potions that usually employ bezoars?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you not even open your books, Potter? This is the very simplest of first year material.” He turned to the Slytherins “Mr. Malfoy, would you be able to illuminate Ms. Potter?” Of course, Draco, grin in place, had answered perfectly, earning Slytherin points.

Definitely not like Mr. Pricket. He was actually more like Mr. Gladly in mentality, if not methods. He didn’t just favor the popular kids though, the Slytherins, but also actively shunned the unpopular kids, us Gryffindors, for good measure. As he roamed the classroom, watching us brew our potions, criticism rarely fell upon Slytherin heads, and when it did it was less biting. He even praised Malfoy. It looked like they knew each other, Snape no doubt being one of Malfoy’s famed connections. Amy’s little stunt was finally coming to bite her in the ass. They were all in cahoots, and I was sure that little performance with the questions at the start had been rigged.

Incidentally, I was surprised at how well Amy had managed to take Snape’s scorn. I’d been expecting for her to snipe back with something sarcastic, but she had been taking the hits passively. They were affecting her though, and she’d been sullen as we brewed our potion. Either that, or she feeling as sleepy as I was. The lower temperature of the dungeons was negated by all the fires running under the cauldrons and the lighting was warm and a bit weak, reflected by hundreds of jars filled with miscellaneous faunas and floras. The fumes from both potions and stewing slugs only added to the ambiance and my jaw felt like cracking under the force of the yawns I was suppressing. I couldn’t let one out with Snape doing his rounds in the shadows, looking for the slightest chance to take points. He’d already done so when Amy had yawned.

“Skitter?”

I snapped to attention. Who had…? Amy, her hand poised over my arm. Evidently, I had not felt her move. Something I should have, if only I hadn’t somehow neglected to bug her. This was really getting out of hand. “What is it?” I asked, raising a hand to rub the bridge of my nose and clear the sleep out of my eyes. Shame I couldn’t get rid of the pain lurking behind my forehead. She pointed discreetly at the thirty minute hourglass we had set up to mark the time between the two phases of brewing. It was empty. “Is it time already?” 

She grimaced. “Yeah… I don’t know. I only just noticed it myself.”

I glanced at the stewing slugs I was supposed to be monitoring. They were already disintegrating. I fished them out before they became unsalvageable and Snape noticed. “Fuck it, we’ll just have to wing it.” In went the slugs.

“Fine by me.” She picked up the porcupine quills, glancing at the blackboard. “Take it off the fire so I can add these.”

I was already in motion, taking the boiling potion and setting it aside. It fizzled against the walls of the cauldron. I was pretty sure it shouldn’t be doing so. I gave Amy a warning look but she just shrugged helplessly and tossed in the quills. Immediately, the boiling got more violent and big bubbles formed, popping and sending burning liquid flying. I stepped back quickly enough, getting some drops on my clothes. For once, I appreciated the long robes of the uniform. Amy, who had her hand over the cauldron, was not so fortunate.

“Shhiiiii-” She hissed loudly, biting her lip and the rest of the word. The potion had only lightly splattered her hand but it was enough. The skin reddened rapidly and small bumps started growing.

Snape was on us in a flash, pulling Amy away by her shoulder. “Imbeciles!” His eyes darted over our station, taking in all the myriad ways we had messed up. A wave of his wand and our brew was settling, lukewarm. “Potion-making is a precise art,” he lectured, “and every component must be prepared correctly, every step followed diligently. Otherwise, not only will the potion made be sub-par, it will also be dangerous, in brewing or upon consumption.” He took Amy’s wrist, examining her hand with a scowl and turning it towards the light so that we could see the painful-looking boils slowly spreading upon its surface. “A Cure-Boils Potion will inflict boils if done incorrectly. In your case, Ms. Potter, Ms. Granger, the preparation of your ingredients was utterly slipshod and you let the potion reach the boiling point during brewing. Did you not hear me when I said to let it simmer? Not boil?”

He had directed the last question at me and I nodded. But before I could say anything he continued on.

“Then were you sleeping on your feet? It should not be a hard task to keep an eye on your hourglass, unless first years have reached new levels of incompetency.” He sneered.

“We get it, Professor.” I finally snapped. My fists were clenched by my sides and the pounding in my head was starting to be too much to bear. I gestured towards her hand, still in his grasp. “Now, may I please take Amy to the Infirmary?”

Snape startled, face blank for a fraction of second. Then the glower was back in full-force. “Five points from Gryffindor, Ms. Granger. Now go.”

Amy swore under her breath as we marched out of the dungeons. She cradled her hand closely against her chest, glancing down anxiously at it every so often, and I remembered the Siberian biting her finger off, piece by piece. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah. It just… burns and itches at the same time. The pain isn’t that bad.” She rubbed her wrist, frowning. “I fucked that one up.”

“Don’t be, I got distracted too.” Because I was sleep-deprived. I let out a harsh breath through my nose and rubbed my temples again. “Mind if we stop on the entrance hall? My head is killing me.”

Nothing more was said as we ascended the stairs to the ground level. Just the scent of fresh air was a balm and I noticed myself relaxing as we approached the Entrance Hall and, beyond it, the castle’s outside. I had only planned on stopping by the Entrance Hall, one of the rare places in the building that remained constant in time and space. But the prospect of being out of Hogwarts, if only for a bit, was too tempting. We easily opened one of the massive front doors despite its size, the rim only catching slightly on the stone floor before we pushed through it.

I sat down and breathed easier. The castle and all its Escher architecture was still in my range, but the crisp autumnal wind felt heavenly. The worms burrowed deeper under our feet, the ants ate and gathered soil in preparation for winter. And they were just there. Not... not-there or here-there or there-there. I huffed. Damn, I was so tired.

“Better?” Asked Amy.

“Yes. It was really hard not to set a swarm on Snape.” My smile turned humorless. “My control was fraying.” Because I was sleep-deprived.

She scuffed her shoes against the gravel. We’d had this talk before. My headaches, and consequent insomnia, came from my power. She didn’t do brains. Putting me to sleep directly apparently also involved my brain, though I couldn’t see precisely how. I wasn’t particularly eager to get trapped into the abstract nightmares my sleep had become either.

I didn’t want the unwanted things in the air to turn this relaxing outing into something awkward. “It was hard. Snape is such an asshole.” Amy scoffed an affirmative. “You surprised me though. I was expecting you to… do something.” Like she had done on the train, though it might have been wishful thinking of my part considering Snape was a teacher.

“I almost did. I had skin contact right there.” She slumped. “But you can’t do things… directly, when it’s somebody with authority over you. I’ve dealt with guys like him before.”

“Seriously? I didn’t think Arcadia had teachers like that.”

Now Amy laughed. “Arcadia? What? No, it doesn’t. I mean, it’s not perfect, but it doesn’t have that. I’m talking about the hospitals. You wouldn’t believe the amount of doctors that don’t like what I do. Or worse, the administrators.”

That earned her a raised eyebrow. “How do people not want you healing?”

“Eh. Well, before we had a system established, there were some who worried that I would make the hospital lose money or, worse, make people lose their jobs. That didn’t happen, of course.”  She rolled her eyes. “There are restrictions on how much a minor can work and on parahuman workforce…. Nevermind how much I can actually do. Most of the times, I don’t even heal locals; I get people flown in from around the world.”

“Ah.” I’d heard this debate before. I was of the personal opinion was that the gang problem should be taken care of before this minutiae could be discussed. “So, Snape…”

“It’s unpleasant, but I can deal.” She frowned. “I just wish I knew what the hell I did to him for him to hate me like that. At least with those assholes I knew why they were like they were. This is so… frustrating.” She kicked a pebble.

“I think he just hates all Gryffindors.” I kicked a pebble myself and watched it tumble across the ground.   
“No.” She shook her head, growing distant. “You didn’t see his eyes. He hates me. For whatever, I don’t know, but he really, personally hates me.”


End file.
